


Apples and Oranges

by Nonetoowell



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, College, Family Drama, Illness, M/M, Mild Language, Romance, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-21
Updated: 2012-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-12 15:15:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 65,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonetoowell/pseuds/Nonetoowell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred needs inspiration, but gets a ghost from his past instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ch.1

Alfred lightly thumbed at the advance lever on his camera. The soft click it made every time it fell back into place almost boomed in the still classroom, empty except for him and his professor. She was perched on the front of her desk, hands casually rested to her side, but her gaze focused and knowing as she patiently waited for him to speak. He had dreaded this moment, for it was a long time coming. The final portfolio for the class had been looming in his mind since he read the class syllabus, and that the teacher made biweekly checkups on them only made him even more distraught. She had been fine when he was in his planning stages at the beginning, he'd turn in a few concept photos for her and she seemed to really like them. Today, though, was the half semester mark, and planning stages wasn't good enough anymore. She needed to see some of his work, and what he gave her was essentially nothing.

"I'm sorry," he finally managed, fingers moving to twist at his camera's neck strap. She only cocked her head to the side and waited for him to continue.

Taking a deep breath, like the ones he would take when he was going to jump off the high diving board when he was little, he plunged into his explanation, "I know I should be way further than I am, and you've been more than lenient with me so far. It's just… Well, I'm lost. I have all these ideas of where I want to go, but none of them seem to work out when I actually try to do them. Some days I think I have it, but I end up trying too hard or it doesn't look anywhere near it did in my head. I'm sorry, I really am, and I promise I'll have something for you to really look at next time." He hadn't meant to say it all at once, but it whooshed out of him before he could stop and collect himself.

"Alfred," his professor began in a tone disturbingly gentle and weary, "I understand that it might be difficult for you to come up with something, a rut like is difficult to overcome. I get artist's block a lot myself. But this is for a grade, and you're just going to have to pick something and go with it."

He could only nod his understanding, too embarrassed of himself to say anything else. She didn't seem to notice his response as she continued, "Of course, you're not going to get any points this week. But, considering your grade in the class, that shouldn't be too much trouble. Just take a day to think about what you want to do and just go with your gut, okay?"

"Thank you professor," he said, unable to mask his misery. He left the classroom, head down and trying not to meet the gaze of any students milling out in the hallway. He was afraid that if he looked up, his face would give away what a failure he was at that moment. He should have known better than to think he could make it as a photographer. His work was mediocre, he couldn't see things artistically like his classmates and even his camera wasn't up to snuff. He felt like an idiot the first day he walked into that room and saw he was the only student present without a digital camera. The school had even gotten rid of the darkroom to save money, so he was left to figure out how to develop his pictures on his own.

"Why does everyone have to use computers for everything?" he muttered, his breath puffing white in the chilly evening air as he stepped outside. The more the school tried to be technologically savvy, the more he felt obsolete. As if it weren't enough that he was beginning to drown in his own uncertainty, the world had to keep reminding him that he was nothing but some farm boy who thought he could make something of himself.

Snow crunched obnoxiously under foot as he made his way to the main road. If he was lucky he would make his bus, assuming he walked fast enough, which became unlikely once he saw how crowded the main ways were. As much as Alfred liked a more urban life style compared to the endless fields of wheat he had grown up in, he really hated the crowds. If it wasn't like slogging through a heard of testy cows, then it was a game of dodging, most other people not willing to slow their pace for something as silly as a person in their way. He managed to slip through a few key gaps, but immediately found himself stuck behind a group of young women who chose to walk abreast and at a snail's pace. Fighting the urge to bulldoze through them, he lightly tapped his nose in irritation. Well there went any hope of making his bus. Predictably, when he arrived at the stop, he got there just in time to see it pulling away and zooming off down the street.

"Now that's just spiteful," he said to himself, keenly aware of the looks passerby gave him. He supposed he'd have to end up begging for a ride once again. Hopefully Kiku hadn't left for work yet, else it was a ten mile walk on the side of a sleet covered highway for him.

He had just punched in his roommate's number when something bright had caught his attention. He looked over his shoulder and found that it was a shiny head of wavy blond hair. The way the ridiculously luxurious locks bounced and moved as the man it all belonged to walked away in an all too familiar strut and-

"Francis?"

The man immediately whipped around, and Alfred found himself confronted with eyes blue enough to match the summer sky over Kansas. Francis' face, virtually untouched by the years since he last saw the older man, looked him over in polite confusion. His thin lips pulled briefly down into a frown before his whole face lit up in surprised delight.

"Alfred? My God is that you?"

He was on Alfred before he had the time to process that Francis was there, standing before him, in the flesh. Not even the pain of the overenthusiastically tight hug forcing the air out of his lungs could bring him back to earth. Blinking stupidly when he was finally released, he found his earlier estimation wrong. He did seem older, or it was the thicket of stubble on his chin throwing off his perception.

"My dear boy, how have you been? Where have you been? Really, the chances of us running into each other…" Alfred immediately tuned out Francis's babbling. The man went on and on, as was his way. He'd randomly ruffle Alfred's hair, or clap his shoulder as he looked the boy up and down. Alfred felt his gut twist with the reminder that he's lived through this type of greeting many times before. Not all of them given by Francis.

"How've you been, Francis?" he asked as soon as there was a slight pause.

"Mon trognon! What a way to greet me! You could at least pretend to be a little pleased," Francis said in his usual good natured way. Alfred tried not to balk at his old pet name.

"Uh, sorry. You caught me at a bad time," Alfred lied through a halfhearted smile. He couldn't tell him that he would rather get an F and hike a hundred miles than be where he was right then. That would just be rude. He was about to employ his 'Pretend to not be feeling well' tactic, when he heard an odd noise come from somewhere below him.

 _"-phone again? Hello?"_ his cell phone was speaking in Kiku's voice. Alfred started with the realization that he had pressed the send button at some point during his little reunion.

He slapped the phone to his ear, and ignoring the amused expression Francis was giving him. "Sorry Kiku, I didn't know you were there. Hey, can you give me a ride?" He barely managed to finish his sentence when Francis plucked the phone right out of his hand.

"My apologies, Mr. Alfred's friend, there's been a bit of a misunderstanding. No need to worry though, I'll have him home and safe in due time." Without waiting for a reply, he promptly ended the call.

"What do you mean by that?" Alfred asked, snatching his phone back. Francis had the gall to look confused.

"I meant what I said, mon-,"

"Don't call me that," he snapped, losing what little energy he had for playing nice. Francis held his hands up in mock surrender, his mouth widening into an even more infuriating grin. Alfred would have given anything to be able to push him out into the street at that moment.

"Oh, fine, I'll agree to your terms. But before you go storming off, at least do me the favor of allowing me a little chat with you. I really have missed you, Alfred. Also, I have car," he added at the end, seeing Alfred scowl when he asked to talk. Alfred stood there, weighing his options and trying not to shiver. The sun was starting to set, and it was only going to get colder. Then again, would he really rather talk to Francis than freeze?

Alfred sighed in defeat and gave a sulky glare. "Fine. But you only have an hour."

"That's more than enough, mon-Alfred. You still like tea?"

Francis turned and headed toward the parking lot, Alfred trailing behind him in a pout. Maybe he should have checked his horoscope before he left that morning. He suspected it would have said that divine intervention had designed for him to meet with someone surprising today. Out of all the people he knew, he was least expecting to see Francis again. Especially considering that last he heard, the man was off somewhere in Aquitaine taking care of family business. It didn't matter what Alfred had thought he knew, though, especially with Francis more than insisting they have a proper conversation. Climbing in what was clearly a rental car, Alfred looked in the back seat to see a duffle bag with clothes spilling out of the mouth. He must have driven a ways if his things were uncharacteristically bunched like that. Eyeing Francis warily as the engine began to rev, he held in any accusations he wanted to make. It could wait until they got where ever they were going, and he needed to think up a way to both appease Francis but keep anyone else from thinking they could get back in touch with him. Slumping in the seat and silently cursing his portfolio, they sped off toward the setting sun.


	2. Chapter 2

The clinking of the spoon spinning in Francis' tea was starting to annoy Alfred. He stared moodily as the graceful, pale hand twirled the liquid expertly. How Francis managed to find a chic tea house, no matter where he went, was as baffling as it was impressive. Alfred was nursing a well earned cup of coffee, at least he thought so after the offended look the cashier gave him when he asked if they had any. They did, and it appropriately tasted awful. He drank it anyway out of defiance.

"So what brings you back to the States?" he asked. He had been mulling over how to start the little talk he had been dragged into, and came up with the most inane questions every time he went to speak. He finally settled on one of the ones that wouldn't likely stray into unwanted territory.

"Oh, I was thinking of setting up shop again," he answered off handedly, tapping his spoon lightly on the cup's rim.

"You're a long way from New York. That's where all the work you want is."

"I went to New York first, and had been living there for a short while. But, I felt traveling would do me some good," he popped the spoon in his mouth and slid it out slowly before finally setting it aside," I was thinking of doing a little traveling cook book, where I write about the recipes I pick up and the experiences I have; and I figured I should give my idea a little test drive in a place that offers me variety and comfort."

"So, you're gonna be staying here awhile?" Alfred grimaced as he pulled his own mug away. He wasn't sure if he was frowning from his drink's bitterness, or the thought of Francis living so close to him again.

"You don't want me around?" Francis laughed softly over the brim of his scalding hot tea, "How hostile you've become! I've wanted an excuse to relax for a little while, so I'll be taking my time to enjoy the sights, I think."

"Fantastic. So why were you around my school particularly?" Alfred tried to subdue the sharpness of his words, but Francis always made it hard to not get snippy.

"One of the professors is an old friend of mine. We both started out as dish washers when I first came to work in this country," he said, his eyes briefly going out of focus with the memory.

"Boy or girl?" Francis laughed at his remark. Alfred found himself thinking that the question didn't matter much. With Francis it could have been anything.

"You haven't lost your cheekiness. Very good," Francis wiped at his watering eyes and pinned him with a look that was practically glowing with fondness. Alfred only felt dread drop cold in his stomach. Meeting Francis's eyes, and how wistful they seemed as they peered through Alfred's glasses at his own, he came to realize the unspoken truth. It shouldn't have upset him as much as it did, but nothing was ever rational with Alfred when it came to that particular man.

"Arthur sent you." Suddenly Francis' face was mirroring his own stricken expression.

"I knew it! He can't just leave me alone!" Alfred shot to his feet, hands clutching at the table edge and grinding his teeth as he stood staring down at the man across from him. Francis slightly pushed his own seat back, his shoulders tense as he leaned forward to look up at Alfred imploringly.

"No, he didn't." Alfred clicked his tongue at the answer and moved to leave when his wrist was wrapped in a surprisingly strong grip. Francis lightly dug his trimmed nails into the protrusion of bone below Alfred's palm, and tugged at him to sit. He wanted to resist, but the grim line Francis had set his lips in told him that he was more than willing to cause a scene to get his way. So Alfred went back to his chair and waited for Francis to let go. The older man simply squeezed a little harder and held on firmly.

"I swear, he's not why I'm here." He would have been convincingly sincere with how he delivered the line, had he not been pinning Alfred's arm to the table.

"Liar," Alfred hissed back at him, trying to cram as much contempt he could muster in the small word.

"It's true." Francis loosened his hold and rubbing apologetic circles with his thumb over the indents on Alfred's skin. "I'm not going to lie; he did say something that made me want to come, but I'm here because I want to be. He doesn't even know I've left Europe yet. I just really wanted to see you."

"What did he say?" Alfred asked, dismissing anything else Francis had said.

Francis seemed to have to contemplate his answer for a minute. Alfred suspected it was going to be another case of half-truths and whole lies. Wouldn't be the first time the older man attempted to manipulate him under the guise of familial concern. As if he ever considered him family, a contemptuous voice in his head concluded.

"He was talking about regrets," Francis began.

"This should be good then," Alfred snorted, leaning back and crossing his arms.

Francis continued as if he hadn't said anything, "It's how he usually gets when he's drunk, always going on about one of his many mistakes. This last time he was talking about you and how he felt things went wrong… It just got me thinking of how things ended badly between us, and I was hoping to get to apologi-"

"Too little too late," Alfred interrupted rudely, getting up and leaving without the other man being able to stop him that time.

He threw open the coffee house door harder than he intended, apologizingd to the patrons grumbling about the cold coming in before he ducked out when he saw Francis following him. He tried to run off down the sidewalk and ignore the shouts coming from behind when his feet hit a dark patch of ice, and sent him with a squawk into a deep bank piled up with brown snow from the plows. He just wanted to lie there until he froze to death, or the trash men picked him up, or something equally melodramatic. Either way he felt impotent, so he didn't resist when he felt Francis pull at his arm and help him to his feet.

"Really, Alfred," he sighed, brushing snow out if his short blond fringe, "I understand that you're frustrated, but this is ridiculous. After everything I've done for you and you're this angry about that stupid fight we had?"

"Everything you've done for me," he seethed through clenched teeth, "Was just another way for you to get one up on Arthur. Don't think I don't know."

Francis went to speak, but Alfred went on, "You just wanted to see him suffer, and I was the perfect way for you to do that. And that's the only reason you helped me out of that house!"

"That's not," Francis started, but seemed to decide on another tactic from vainly proclaiming his innocence, "That's not the whole reason. I did want to help you, and I agreed with where you were coming from. I know him and how he gets, and there was no way he would have seen things your way. Getting back at him for the whole Mathieu thing was just a consequence."

Alfred didn't care, and wasn't listening. He just stared at a patch of cement and let Francis run through his excuses. The reasons didn't matter anymore, and he just wanted to go to bed so the day would finally end.

"Please just take me home," he whispered, still not looking up from the ground. Francis complied, leading him back to the car without another word. The drive was silent, Francis occasionally glancing over at him, and Alfred staring listlessly out the window. When they pulled up to Alfred's apartment complex they stayed still and quiet in their seats, both waiting for the other to say something. Alfred was the one that caved.

"Thanks," he said blandly, unfastening his seatbelt.

"We need to continue our talk. You can't expect me to leave it where it is," Francis responded, squeezing the steering wheel and looking off in the distance.

"What's there left to say?"He almost felt like crying.

"Everything." He looked over at his passenger with an empty smile. "I'll drop this tonight, but I want to see you again, preferably soon."

Alfred realized there was no avoiding Francis if he didn't want him to. "Fine. You know where to find me."

"Actually, I was hoping for your number. Unless, of course, you want me to drop in." Alfred whipped out his hand for Francis' phone. He handed over his cell with a smirk and Alfred added himself to the contacts, trying not to read the name that was right under his.

"That it?" He toyed with the door handle in anticipation.

"That's it. Goodnight, Alfred," Francis said, relaxing back and smiling more warmly.

"Right." He hopped out of the car and strode up the steps before he could be called back. His numb fingers flitted around his ring of keys to find the right one, causing a loud jingling to echo around the walkway. He tried to jamb the one he needed into the lock but kept hitting and chipping the faded paint surrounding it. After the third miss, his body shaking and shivering, the door opened at last and revealed a short and grim looking boy behind it. Kiku looked up at him blankly, stepping away to allow him entrance. Alfred rushed inside, rubbing his arms and stamping his feet on the little mat in the cramped hallway.

"I was getting worried. I tried to call you back but you never answered." At Kiku's remark, Alfred pulled out his phone and found that it somehow got turned on silent.

"Heh, sorry," he offhandedly apologized, thumbing through his missed calls, "I was kinda distracted. I didn't mean to stress you like that."

"Who was the man on the phone?" Alfred knew Kiku didn't mean anything by it, but he had to work hard to swallow the retort trying to bubble up through his burning stomach.

"Him? Don't worry about him. I'll see you tomorrow, man." He exaggerated a yawn and dove toward his bedroom without a backward glance. He shut the door behind himself and slumped heavily against it. His body deflated as he breathed heavily out of his nose, and his knees slightly knocked against each other. What was he going to do?

Stumbling forward, he simply kicked off his shoes and threw himself down on his bed. Burying his face into the pillow, he let out the primal scream he had been holding in for hours. When he was done, he just felt light headed and even more irritated. Turning over and starting to nod off, he set his jaw forward in resentment against people who were no longer there. Next time Francis saw him, he'd have to make certain beyond any doubt that nothing was going to change. Satisfied with his own determination, he allowed himself to drift to sleep just as the consistantly unwanted voice in the back of his mind whispered, 'You never could say no to him.'


	3. Chapter 3

"Hey, I'm back," Alfred called into the living room, setting down his bags of groceries and shrugging off his coat. Humming to himself, he started to stuff things away in the fridge and set out a cup of instant noodles for his lunch. It had been a rough morning for him at work, and he wanted nothing more than to lie on the couch, watch some T.V. and gorge himself on processed food that plugged his arteries up with salty goodness. Stuffing a measuring cup in the microwave and punching in the cook time, he turned to see Kiku standing in the hall holding something black and bulky with a yellow flap attached.

To Alfred's horror, he realized that it was his camera. How could he not have noticed it was gone? Kiku seemed a little miffed when their eyes met. Alfred wasn't surprised, seeing as the camera was and old one of Kiku's that he had given him when he couldn't afford to buy one for class. The gift had been very sweet, and even though Kiku acted like it was no big deal, Alfred knew he had agonized over whether to give him the camera or not.

"A man calling himself your big brother dropped this off. I didn't manage to get a name, he was gone before I could ask him anything." His tone was neutral and unaccusing, so far.

"Oh," Alfred tactfully responded, taking the camera back when he noticed the yellow flap was a sticky note.

The thing was practically a letter, flowery cursive and a ridiculous heart scribbled on the corner. He read it with a sinking feeling.

_Mon cher Alfred,_

_You left your camera in my car, you silly boy. I hope_

_you do not mind me taking the liberty of coming to your_

_place and returning it. I would have returned it last night_

_but you seemed to want to be left alone. I will call you_

_when I have the time. I've become unexpectedly busy!_

_Grosses bises! XOXO_

_P.S. Your 'friend' is very cute!_

He rolled his eyes and tossed the note in the trash. He went to speak to Kiku, but he strode pass Alfred without looking at him. He was prepared to start on a chain of apologies when he saw that his friend was opening the microwave and setting the measuring cup aside. He wondered when the chime went off, because he didn't remember hearing it.

"My bad." He rushed over to the kitchen and started to finish preparing his meal despite not feeling very hungry anymore. Kiku simply watched him as he moved to and fro. Alfred soon ended up leaning against the counter, spooning noodles into his mouth and peering over his glasses at the quiet boy who made no attempt to hide his open observation. After a solid ten minutes of their odd little staring contest, Alfred finally got the hint that he had some explaining to do.

"So you met him, huh?" Okay, that wasn't the best question to ask, but he was at a loss.

"Yes, he was very friendly. Though a little domineering, but I'm used to that." Kiku was speaking in that pleasantly conversational tone that told Alfred he best get to the point, and soon.

"You probably want to know who he is..." He fidgeted with his styrofoam cup and restlessly made his way toward the living room. Kiku merely followed him, his dark eyes burning holes in the back of his head. Alfred didn't want to talk about his personal life, especially then. But it seemed that Francis was going to inevitably turn up again, and it wasn't fair to keep his friend in the dark when all his dirty laundry had come right to his door and dropped off his stuff.

"His name's Francis. He used to be my guardian," Alfred mumbled, flopping gracelessly down on the couch.

Kiku only seemed perplexed by the answer. "I thought the English gentleman, Arthur, was your guardian."

"He was." Alfred removed his glasses and pulled his hand down his face, stopping on his chin. "But I asked to be put in Francis' custody when I started high school. You can imagine how well that went with, well, everyone."

Kiku sat down next to him, the cushions barely giving under his thin frame. He rested his hands in his lap and looked over at Alfred with what may have been sympathy. Alfred had been friends with him for years, but even he had trouble interpreting the minute expressions that would sometimes play over his face.

"Did you two not get along?" He asked, more out of obligation to continue the conversation Alfred had started than any genuine curiosity from his end.

"No, we got along great. We always have, in our own way." He looked up at the ceiling, as if it might solve all his troubles. "It just turned out that he had his own agenda, and it didn't sit well with me when I found out a few unpleasant things about him."

Kiku nodded his understanding as Alfred went on. "We got in a fight, and I left. I was graduated and old enough to live on my own by then, so it wasn't a big deal. Just, I stopped talking to him."

"That's a shame," Kiku said, absently picking at a thread on his sweater.

Alfred shrugged. "It happens. Not like either of them were around much anyways. Arthur was always traveling back and forth between countries, and Francis was doing God knew what when he wasn't trying to make it as a chef."

"He's here to repair your relationship." Kiku's response was a statement, not a question.

"I guess. He might even do it too, if it's what he really wants." Alfred slumped down and extended his legs to rest his aching feet. He always had a hard time refusing Francis, no matter how wronged he felt. The older man had a particular talent in being both charming and persistent. It was going to be even more difficult to stay mad with him being around, and not some contemptible figure half a world away. Maybe his ire had been fueled by the distance and his problems with Francis weren't as bad as he remembered?

"… and that was the second time someone's kissed me without permission."

He must have been lost in thought, because he hadn't realized Kiku started talking until he stopped. Then he took a moment for what Kiku had said to sink in.

"Dude, you need to not let people in your bubble so easy. My creepy family in particular."

"How am I to know if they're your family? From what I understand only your brother is related to you, and you two look alike anyway."

"If they're blond, head the other direction," he said tiredly, popping his knuckles and enjoying how Kiku's eye twitched with each crack. "Besides, there's only the three of them. Though it totally feels like more."

"I understand the feeling," Kiku muttered more to himself than Alfred, getting up and going to his room for the next couple of hours. Alfred never bothered to ask what he got up to in there. He liked to amuse himself with the thought that he was looking up freaky porn.

Alfred spent the rest of his time slowly finishing up his lunch, wiling away some time cleaning the dishes that had been sitting in the sink for a few days when he realized he had used the last spoon. Setting aside a plate to dry, he wondered when he told Kiku about his brother. Then he remembered the photo of them when they were five that sat on his dresser, two round faced little boys grinning through the dirt smudged on their cheeks and showing off a squash they grew in their garden that year. Kiku made some comment about twins being lucky or something, and Alfred joked that he would've cut his brother out of the photo if he knew which of them was which. On occasion he would toy with the idea of stuffing the picture under his bed with the rest of his old crap, and throwing it all away. Of course that wouldn't happen. He lost count of how many times he said he was going to get rid of the things he kept in his cardboard shoe box and never went through with it.

"Well, might as well relax before Francis comes and bugs me later," he said while shaking off the water from his hands and going to reclaim his spot on the couch.


	4. Chapter 4

Francis hadn't called. He hadn't called or anything since he dropped off the camera and it was pissing Alfred off. He'd keep checking his phone every minute or so to see if the man had decided to contact him, and nothing. He didn't even have a return number to try and reach him and ask, 'What the hell?' Really, if he was going to just drop in on his life after so much time, the least he could do was stick to his word.

"Mr. Jones, do I need to take away your phone?" His Computer Basics teacher's voice boomed across the lab, the projector light glinting off his glasses ominously.

"No, sorry." He shoved his phone into his backpack and tried to write down as many notes as he could before his teacher changed the slide. The weekend came and went, and suddenly it was Monday again and only the sticky note Alfred had dug back out of the trash was any evidence that the Frenchman wasn't a figment of his imagination. Not that he was moping or anything. He just felt that it was good manners to get in touch with someone within a few days if they had said they wanted to see you again. No matter how busy they supposedly were.

"Probably gadding off with his 'friends,'" he grumbled to himself, packing his things and filing out of class with the rest of his peers. The sun was actually shining that day, melting the snow into messy slop. Alfred looked at the virtually clear skies with resentment, until he was struck with an idea.

"Oh, maybe I could..." He pulled off to the side of the crowd and started to dig for his camera. When he found it he walked over to a more secluded part of the causeway, setting his bag by a planter of young saplings and prepared to start snapping pictures when a nearby figure caught his attention.

It was a little girl, maybe around seven, waving her arms and twirling about happily in the snow covered grass. Alfred watched in amusement as she seemed to be dancing with some invisible person, occasionally bowing and pretending to allow them to spin her around. Holding in a laugh, Alfred took one quick photo when she was in mid arm flap. The little girl suddenly stopped and looked over at him in surprise when the sound of a click reached her ears. She promptly marched over and haulted before him with her hands on her hips and a comical scowl.

"What are you doing?" She piped up in an unusually squeaky voice, even for a kid.

"Taking pictures of clouds," Alfred informed her, as if it were obvious.

"I'm not a cloud." She seemed very concerned that he might not understand that she was most certainly human and nothing else. Alfred managed not to laugh, but couldn't keep from smiling.

"Your breath looks like a cloud." He pointed to his own little puff of breath before it quickly disappeared.

"Only a little bit though," she told him informatively. "Are you taking pictures of clouds 'cause of their funny shapes?"

"Ah, you figured me out! See that one over there? It looks like a rocket ship." Alfred pointed up and out, tracing the outline of the cloud he had in mind with his fingers.

"Nuh uh! It's a boat! Maybe you need new glasses," the little girl countered, stamping her foot in objection.

"You have no imagination. Everyone sees boats," Alfred argued, crossing his arms and playing up a pout.

"You have no imagination! Everyone sees rocket ships!"

"Well, let's settle this the old fashioned way then! What do you see in that cloud above the building over there?" He gestured to over a low office building at a thin stream of white fluff trailed above it.

"You go first," she insisted, eyeing him warily.

"Fine. It's Quetzalcoatl," Alfred answered in a confident but bratty tone.

"What's that?" She asked, looking up at him with big brown eyes.

"A snake kind of guy," he explained, not really sure if she would understand the full story.

"That's cheating! You can't make stuff up." She turned on him with an impressive, wilting glare that called forth unwanted nostalgia in Alfred.

"Sheesh, nothing gets past you." He bit down another laugh. "Then it's just a snake."

The little girl was about to respond, when a woman came out of a nearby building and shouted, "Isabel! Where have you been?" She let out a squeak and ran back toward what must have been her mother. Alfred watched her go with pity as the woman began to berate her for running off. After she was dragged away, Alfred continued to stay in his spot, occasionally glancing upwards and finding the initial idea he had less and less appealing the more he thought about it.

"Might as well just point, click and prey," he sighed, moving about campus and taking the odd picture here and there.

He stayed out longer than he originally intended. At some point he became determined to get a certain shot of a Catholic church bordered perfectly by bare trees, and then the way the lights along the shops lit up the street at dusk looked rather lovely. Next thing he knew it was late in the evening, and he had an hour long bus ride back home from where he ended up.

When he made it back, he took the stairs up two at a time, feeling unusually exhilarated. Reaching the landing, he looked down the hall to see Kiku outside their door, still in his work apron and struggling to unlock it with his hands full of wrapped packages from the post office. With a mischievous grin, he quietly made to sneak up behind him. Just as the smaller boy was about enter the apartment, Alfred sucked in a deep breath and was getting ready to yell when Kiku calmly turned around and looked him dead in the eye.

"Hello Alfred," he greeted serenely. Alfred merely deflated.

"Awe man, how'd you know?"

"I could hear you running up the steps."

Alfred looked impressed as he opened the door for him and followed inside. "Damn, I didn't even think about that."

Once the door was locked, Alfred turned and swiped Kiku's parcels before he had time to protest and set them down for him while giving each one a nosy examination.

"More stuff from your family?" He asked, eyeing the return address on the top package.

"Yes. My brother hasn't quite accepted the fact that I can take care of myself now." Kiku picked up one of the smaller ones and flipped it over in his hand.

"Yeah, I know how that is."

"Were you outside all day?" Kiku suddenly asked, observing the rosiness of Alfred's cheeks as he tossed his backpack on the kitchen table.

"Yup! Taking pictures. It was nice to just focus on my project instead of being distracted by text messages and all that other stuff."

Kiku made no comment. He was fully aware of Alfred practically wearing down the buttons on his phone checking for missed calls. Once, he tried to take pity on him and give him a call during his lunch break at work so he'd stop looking like an abandoned puppy in want of attention. Unfortunately, he didn't quite predict the level of whining Alfred would do when he answered. Complaining about Francis the entire time, naturally. Kiku gave him the silent treatment until Sunday. Alfred didn't notice.

"That doesn't sound very healthy. It got pretty cold once the sun started going down," he commented, trying not to sigh when he saw that a pan was still sitting in the sink.

"I'll be fine. I never get sick," Alfred boasted, heading to his room. Kiku had the decency to pretend not to hear the occasional cough and sneeze from down the hall that night.


	5. Chapter 5

The soft knock on his door sent his hackles up as he tried to bury himself further in the covers to hide. Whoever was outside in the hallway wouldn't be deterred by silence though, and they rapped a little harder. Groaning, Alfred rolled over and glared through the thin wood to will the person on the other side to get the hint. They didn't, and now they were practically pounding the damn thing off its hinges.

"What?" He yelled, or at least tried to. His voice could barely carry through the rawness in it from sleep and sickness.

"Aha! So you are there after all, Alfred! Be a dear and open the door for your big brother?" Francis' voice floated over to Alfred in what he felt was a very creepy, wistful tone.

"You're not my brother! And go away!" Alfred barked back, throwing the covers off and hopping to his feet. Despite what he said, he marched over and threw open the door to really tell the busy body off for dropping by out of the blue, like it was nothing. When he did, he was immediately confronted by a bright white smile, and a bowl getting shoved in his face. Perplexed, he lightly took it and stared down at the still steaming concoction. His eyes narrowed in recognition at the chestnut soup.

"You over did it," he groused, leaning back as Francis invited himself in and started to peer around in curiosity.

"It was no trouble. I've made it so many times it's practically second nature." He waved his hand absently at Alfred, and leaned over his dresser to examine the assortment of CD's scattered across it. Alfred felt too miserable to tell him to stop, and just stuck with the topic at hand.

"You know, chicken noodle soup is supposed to make you feel better." He swirled the spoon in the thick liquid in random patterns as he spoke.

"I know that. But I also remembered how much you used to like this, so I felt it was a better choice. You always had a weakness for sweet things," Francis answered, reading the back of one of the weird techno tracks that Kiku had loaned him.

"So how'd you get inside my apartment?" Alfred tried to sound bored, but some frustration snuck in and he tried to cover for it by sniffling and coughing a little.

"I caught that adorable roommate of yours leaving, so he let me in," he happily admitted, setting Alfred's things down and walking over to him.

"Before or after you sexually harassed him?" Alfred heavily sat back down on his bed and ran a hand absently through his hair.

"Oh you heard about that? I couldn't resist. He was just so serious, I wanted to see what he would do." Francis helped himself to sitting right next to Alfred, leaning in far too close.

"No wonder you have no friends. Everyone you ever talk to is just a potential booty call." Alfred took a small, reluctant sip of the soup. He was upset to find it very delicious.

"That's not true! I have friends I don't sleep with."

"Anymore," Alfred added for him at the end, concentrating hard on eating rather than speaking. They elapsed into a comfortable silence, Alfred eating his food and Francis taking in the look of his room. Once he had scraped the bottom of the bowl clean, he set it all aside and fully faced his guest.

"Thank you," he began shyly, becoming acutely aware that Francis had taken to observing him at some point.

"Hm? Oh, you're welcome," the Frenchman answered off handedly. "What were you doing that you got so sick? Last I remember you were invincible to even the worst colds."

"I wasn't paying attention to how long I was staying outside yesterday," Alfred said, looking back over at his empty dish. At least it was nice of Francis to bring him something. On the rare occasions he had gotten sick in the past, he had been very young and the food was worse than choking down poison. From then on he had been surviving out of sheer will to stay healthy.

Alfred felt a nostalgic grin tug at the corners of his mouth, then go unpleasantly taught when he came to a sudden realization. "How did you know I was sick?"

"What? And why are you smiling like that?"

"How did you know I got sick, or that I'd be here alone today, or when Kiku would be leaving so you could come in and corner me, or-or…" he didn't have any more 'or's but he was certain that there was something else going on that he wasn't aware of.

He was about to ramble on about Francis hiding in bushes and sitting on park benches pretending to read newspapers, and generally just spying on him when he was quickly interrupted. "I called your cell phone a few times and your roommate finally answered."

"No you didn't. My phone's right there on the charge-" Alfred pointed to the extension cord on the floor, and saw that it was very much attached to nothing. Then he remembered stuffing his phone away in his backpack in class, and then leaving his bag on the kitchen table.

"Oh."

Feeling embarrassed, he quickly changed the subject. "So, what happened to wanting to talk?"

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder." Smugness colored Francis' voice.

"You avoided me to make me like you better?"

"Were you not worried?"

Alfred thought back to the obsessive checking of his phone and the hours spent feeling slighted. "Nope."

"Ah, that hurt," Francis gasped, clutching melodramatically at his heart.

Alfred ignored him and moved on, "We gonna get to the meat of the matter, or what? You didn't come over here so we could talk about the weather."

"Untrue! I like to talk about anything and everything with anyone. Besides, we don't have to get into the serious stuff today. You're sick, and I don't want you working yourself up. Besides, I'll be around for awhile." Alfred diverted his gaze when Francis confirmed that the one thing he didn't want to happen was so. "There's no rush here. In fact, I'd like it if we took our time."

"What about what I'd like?"

"What would you like?" Francis pinned him with such a penetrating stare that Alfred couldn't help but say what had been on his mind.

"We hardly even know each other anymore," he started, positioning himself to sit cross legged on the bed and face Francis more directly, "It's only been a little over two years since I left, but a lot's changed. I've been doing my own thing and making my own life, and I'm sure you've been doing the same. So I'd like for us to stop acting like we're the people we were back then."

"Well, then let us get to know each other again." Francis mimicked Alfred's sitting position, leaning forward and looking at him steadily. "Who are you now Alfred?"

"Um, well, I do photography. Hopefully for a living," he said, after searching in his mind for a couple minutes as to where to begin.

"Photography?" Francis immediately got a knowing grin that buried itself under Alfred's skin and began to craw around. "Why, I didn't know you had the nerve."

"Not that kind." Alfred didn't stick out his tongue at the thought, but the juvenile reaction was hard to suppress. "It's more like National Geographic. I want to do stuff more like that."

"So nature photos?" The tone revealed Francis' sudden lack of interest now that he knew Alfred wasn't doing Playboy shoots.

"Yeah, I love the outdoors and I think that the less you mess with something the more appealing it is. But I've done portraits and other stuff too." He always got a little bit happier when he talked about the things he loved, and he could feel his own face light up when he thought about all that he wanted to do in the future.

"It sounds like you do a lot. How are the classes so far?" Despite his initial let down, Francis seemed genuinely invested in Alfred's schooling.

That was all the invitation Alfred needed as he immediately launched into a monologue about his class, his nice teacher and the different projects he had done. Francis would cut in mid rant with a question he suddenly had, and mostly he was interested in the pretty classmate that Alfred had asked to model for him once. Alfred eventually conceded to pulling out that particular series of photos after Francis wouldn't stop poking him in his side and chuckling about how squishy his belly seemed to be. The older man was quickly disappointed to find stills of a young lady swathed in a heavy cloth, holding a lamb and a palm branch that Alfred spent weeks trying to find, in a send up to Agnes of Rome. Alfred only felt it served Francis right for not asking what the assignment was on.

Before long, it was getting well into the evening and Alfred's stomach was quietly gurgling with hunger. Francis was picking through Alfred's album of photos, occasionally commenting on the ones that caught his interest. He was almost done with one stack, and holding up a snapshot of a fluffy white cat batting at wind chimes, when he noticed Alfred looking over at his clock.

"My, my, that time already? I should probably go." He carefully replaced the pictures in the filing box where they were kept.

Alfred walked him to the door, tripping over the sheets he had wrapped himself in after he started to feel unusually chilly. When they reached the little welcome mat, Francis paused and looked him up and down with a slight frown.

"You should get as much rest as you can, you don't look so well."

"Eh, I'll be fine." Alfred shrugged and shifted his weight between his feet before he steeled himself to ask the question he had been dreading. "Can I get your number?"

Francis' smile was grating. "You want to call me?"

"Well we're going to be talking to each other again at some point, obviously," Alfred tried to retort as nonchalantly as he could, quickly stumbled his way to the kitchen and back after retrieving his phone.

"Talking to me again isn't so bad, yes?" There was that slight smugness again in the Frenchman's tone as he added himself to the caller list.

"I don't like it, but I don't hate it," Alfred answered, snatching his phone back and unlocking the deadbolt.

Francis didn't say anything. He lightly patted Alfred on the cheek, and with a cheerful wave goodbye he was quickly out of sight. Alfred closed the door and tried to distract the tumultuous storm of thoughts whipping around in his head with the prospect of dinner. His attempt proved to be useless when he found that he was stuck with instant noodles again.


	6. Chapter 6

Alfred cursed loudly when he stubbed his toe, practically falling through the door. Trying to walk off the pain, he set down the cardboard box and clear plastic bin he had been holding and was about to start opening his little box when his phone started ringing. Setting everything down, he fumbled through his pocket and looked down to see Francis' name flashing across the front screen. It had only been a full day since Alfred last heard from him, and he knew the older man wasn't going to be yanking his chain by staying distant anymore. Nevertheless, he wasn't expecting to get a call so soon.

"Ahoy, ahoy!"

"…Hello? Alfred?"

"Sorry, that was a bad joke. Sup?"

"Are you busy right now?"

"Nope! Whatcha need?"

"I was wondering if I could ask you something, but I don't think over the phone is appropriate."

"Oh, well you can come over. I'm just developing some film, so you won't be in the way or anything." He tried to wedge his phone between his ear and shoulder so he could cut into the box again, but ended up almost dropping everything.

"Alright, I will be over soon."

"'Kay, I'll leave the door unlocked for you." Alfred hung up without bothering to say goodbye, or for Francis to speak again.

Alfred immediately threw himself into the task at hand as soon as the call ended. He didn't have too much time left to get everything developed and make photos, having been preoccupied with things aside from his portfolio work lately. His teacher, as nice as she was, would murder him if he didn't have anything once again. If none of his pictures worked out, he supposed he could always claim that they all had a nonexistent theme in common. Though that would prove to be problematic, the only thing he didn't learn in college being how to sell a good lie.

"How did you manage to find all these chemicals?" The voice of Francis was so close to his ear that Alfred felt a faint puff of air sweep past his tragus. Alfred whipped around in surprise, yelping in a way that wasn't girly in the least.

"Oh, hey. Wow you're quiet." He tried to laugh but his voice cracked a little. "They, um, they come in kits together."

Francis looked on as Alfred began to set things up around the sink with a triumphant smirk. "How long does this usually take?"

"Not even twenty minutes."

"It looks complicated," he observed as Alfred started filling up hot water in the plastic bin.

"Nah, it's just a pain in the butt is all." Alfred stuck a thermometer into the water, finding the temperature adequate and starting to set plastic cylinders inside.

"You sound better, by the way," Francis commented, hovering a little closer.

"Yeah, I took a bunch of cold medicine and slept it all off like you said I should." Alfred turned a wide smile toward Francis, trying his best to play the good host. "You can sit at the table if you want. This is can get boring if you're not the one doing everything."

Francis took the invitation and watched, mesmerized as Alfred would randomly flip one of the cylinders back and forth between his hands and then go to the sink to use the water for one thing or another. The young blond looked like a mad scientist, the way he would suddenly poor or stir. Francis eventually took to resting his head on his hand, trying to keep in a few teasing jokes about the way Alfred stuck out his tongue and furrowed his brow in concentration. Before long, Alfred was pulling out a roll and prying a long, translucent ribbon from it.

"I'll be right back, I'm going to hang this up real quick," Alfred stated aloud, still looking at the strip and was gone before Francis had time to reply.

"You're just going to leave it there?" Francis asked when Alfred came back.

"For now, yeah. I have an old coworker that has the equipment I need for the rest of it that he lets me use. It's all a little beat up from who knows what, but it gets the job done."

"What kind of person is this, a fellow photographer?" Francis leaned forward, interlocking his fingers and resting his chin on them, staring at Alfred intently.

"He's the kind of guy to insist that his caller ID read as 'Awesome,' and I'm pretty sure him and his uptight brother do some fetish magazine stuff. Though I haven't found any definitive proof yet, they kind of give off that vibe." Alfred tapped his chin thoughtfully. There was that one day he found a bridle laying on one of the work tables. He was assured that they used to ride horses, but Alfred knew what a horse bridle looked like and that wasn't it. Well, at least if he was remembering everything correctly.

"Ah, that's… You know many different types of people it seems."

Alfred was surprised by the distracted response. He was expecting Francis to at least ask if he could be snuck a free sample once he said the word 'fetish.' Grabbing a rag hanging from the oven handle and sitting down across from his guest, Alfred dried the excess water from his skin and looked the Frenchman over without really seeing. Francis responded by faintly smiling down at Alfred's hands and the way he wiped them with the dish rag.

"You remind me of someone," he said, still looking at Alfred's hands.

"Who would that be?" Alfred looked up at him curiously, setting the rag aside and slouching in his chair.

"My favorite chef."

"How so?" Alfred had been compared to many things, but never had it been a chef.

"The way you move your hands and how your face looks when you're doing that," he nodded his head at the canisters and the sink, "It's a lot like the chef I most admire. I can tell you're passionate about what you do."

"Oh yeah? Anyone famous?"

Francis huffed out a breathy laugh. "Not at all. Just someone I knew back home."

Alfred's smile widened a bit more, and he sat fidgeting with the table edge for a bit. Francis looked like he wanted to say more, so he waited until the other man was ready.

"There's something I want to be honest about. We agreed to start over and I feel the need to clear the air about some certain aspects of my life I've mislead you to believe," Francis spoke up after shifting around in his chair aimlessly, trailing off and for once at looking at a loss for words.

It took Alfred a while to understand what Francis was driving at. "You mean your personal life? Look, I know I rag on you sometimes, but I don't mean anything by it. What you do in your free time isn't any of my-"

"I was unloading shipments."

"Okay…" Alfred wanted to laugh at the random statement, but the look on Francis' face stopped him.

"When you were living with me, those nights I would stay out late or not come home, I was unloading shipments at a warehouse I would sometimes work at for extra cash. I wasn't really out with women or at the bars like I made it seem."

"Then why did you act like you were?" Alfred wasn't sure if he really wanted an answer.

"Because being an irresponsible letch was less humiliating than having to admit I was having financial troubles again. I didn't want to worry you. You already had school and that part time job you insisted on having to keep you busy."

Alfred was dumbstruck. He remembered getting said job at the theater, mostly because he was sick of staying home alone all the time. There was nothing he hated more than feeling alone. He also remembered the odd morning Francis would come stumbling into the house, winking at him and apologizing for not being able to say no to an insistent lady. Thinking back, he supposed the lady was really his boss or something.

"I'm certainly not saying I'm a saint. My vices are the worst, especially when I've used them as a mask for my pride. I thought it would be best to make you believe you just had a bad guardian. I know how you are, and I didn't want you thinking that you were the reason I was having money issues."

Alfred nodded, eyes impossibly wide, and then suddenly, "So what did you want to ask me?"

Francis' eyebrows shot up, and he frowned at the question. Alfred thought that maybe he was being too cold, switching gears so abruptly. But he needed more time. He had just had the rug pulled out from under him, and he didn't know where to begin in getting himself back to his feet. Then Francis' expression relaxed again, and he smiled in a self deprecating way.

"Well it seems silly now that we've said all that we have. I was wondering what you were doing for your fall break. Your school has that, right?"

"All of them do," Alfred said, glad that Francis was just as willing to change topics, "I've got nothing, just work most mornings."

"You're off on Thanksgiving?"

"I'm off on Thanksgiving," Alfred affirmed. Francis merely stayed silent, so he continued, "Would you like to come over? I know I never had much talent for cooking but I'm sure I could-"

"Oh no, no! I wouldn't ask you to do that, I'll cook. And I'll buy everything I need too. It won't be the traditional feast people here usually have," he waved his hands in front of himself as if he was pushing something away, "Besides, I need to keep my game up."

"It's a deal then." Alfred sat back in his chair, and they both fell into a more comfortable conversation about trivial and impersonal things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I attempted to research how to develop film at home, and this was the end result. I hope it wasn't too confusing, I had a hard time understanding it myself.


	7. Chapter 7

Alfred sat on the bus and stared at the manila envelope in his hands. He had gotten his film processed, and aside from the work involved in exposing his pictures he hadn't taken a proper look at them. He had just come from Gilbert's place, his supposedly awesome ex-coworker, and he was considering not going back. It was a fruitless consideration when he knew he would eventually return anyway, no matter how upset he was in that moment. When it came to guys like Gilbert, you stuck with them almost because of how infuriating they were. Still, calling his pictures wannabe greeting cards had nettled his mood. So he left and he no longer had anything to distract him from the thoughts he had been avoiding since yesterday. From the moment Francis made his impromptu confession it was like there was suddenly a whole other person involved. Every grievance and every offense he had felt because of Francis was suddenly cast into uncertainty. If Francis' pride was allowing Alfred to think one thing about the man, what else had he been wrong on?

Resting his forehead against the cool bus window, he thought back on his first night living with Arthur, he had barely been five and he and his brother had just been separated that morning. He spent the whole evening sobbing and asking about his twin and his mother, and why he couldn't see them. He thought that any minute his mom would come by and take him back home to their cozy little farm in Kansas and away from the grumpy man with the strange accent. She never would, of course. Arthur spent the whole night patting his hair and mumbling random words of comfort while Alfred hid his face into his stomach. He did see his brother the next morning, just as he was prepared to give up ever being with him again too. They had both been so tired from crying that they just curled up with each other on the couch and fell asleep. Arthur had roused him a little later, and he was upset to find that Matt was no longer with him. Instead, there was another stranger with a different but just as funny accent as Arthur's. Alfred was more than prepared to break out in to tears again when the other man, Francis, quickly asked if he would like to join his brother for lunch. Alfred thought he was the most wonderful person in the world at that moment, and he became even more impressed when he tasted some of his cooking. It took him a little longer to warm up to Arthur, but once he did he was nothing short of adoring. From then on Matt and he were hardly apart, but they still had different homes and they spent the odd night away from each other when neither Francis nor Arthur could be convinced to let one stay over. Even then, though, he remembered being quite happy.

He supposed the cracks in their odd little family started to show when Matt began to spend every night of every week with them when they were seven. It had been a few months since he last went back to his home with Francis, so Alfred approached Arthur in the kitchen one afternoon. The man was diligently burning whatever was going to be their lunch, and he hesitantly asked why Francis was no longer taking care of Matt.

_He's an irresponsible fool, and you shouldn't worry about him._

Alfred didn't question it, and went to go find his brother to play a game with. But that very night he had snuck out of bed to find Arthur because of a nightmare, and discovered him whispering an argument to someone over the phone.

_I said no, and I meant it. Get your act together and maybe I'll allow you to visit. I'll talk to you tomorrow._

He slammed the phone down quite harshly, and his usually grumpy look intensified. He crossed his arms and thrummed his fingers by his elbows in thought as the room buzzed in the quiet of the night. Alfred decided that he'd just have to fight the monsters himself and leave Arthur to his thoughts.

Francis did come around again when Alfred and Matt were a week away from their eighth birthday. He smiled warmly, and laughed loudly when the twins tackled him at the door. He patted them on the head and played keep away with the gift he had brought them. Though, it didn't escape either one of them when his face hardened and his eyes narrowed the moment Arthur walked into the room. The get together managed to be amicable, but sometimes a look of hurt would briefly flash across the Frenchman's face, and Alfred and Matt would exchange looks in wonderment.

It continued to be that way until Alfred left. Francis would pop in and be all smiles when he knew either Alfred or Matthew was around, but sometimes he would slip despite his best efforts. It was unreal to see such a friendly man be so bitter when he thought he was having a private moment. So when Francis admitted to keeping his extra jobs to himself, Alfred wasn't sure what to think. He didn't deny the sincerity of all the things said, but he also couldn't deny that Francis was the opposite of forthcoming. Whatever wrong he felt Arthur had done to him, he held on to it in all the time Alfred remembered. Alfred's breath fogged up the window's glass when he snorted through his nose, admitting to himself the irony of Francis now getting along with the Englishman when he himself couldn't. Francis was too contradictory, he decided with a determined nod, the skin on his forehead making a squeak on the slick surface.

The scenery sped by in a blur of white and grey, not bothering to try and focus. The low hum of the bus pulled Alfred into a half lucid state, allowing his mind to relax like it hadn't done in a while. Letting his thoughts wash over him, he had to laugh a little. Didn't he tell Francis not too long ago that he wanted them to treat each other like the people they were in the present, not in the past? He'd give the man a chance and take him at his word. He figured that even if he was lying, they were lies he wanted to believe.

"Why does this have to be such a pain in the ass?" He asked himself with a light grin.

"I beg your pardon?" Came the indignant cry of an elderly woman sitting across the aisle from him.

"Sorry, I didn't mean-I just meant, uhm…Have a good day." He quickly exited the bus, and discovered he got off one stop early. Watching the bus turn a corner, he shrugged and started to walk. The exercise would be a good way to clear his head anyway.

"Francis is making us his guinea pigs," he announced fifteen minutes later, striding into the living room.

"I'm sorry?" Kiku looked up from his spot on the floor, a thick text book open on his lap.

"He's making us some stuff for Thanksgiving he's been meaning to try, and he doesn't 'trust my pallet' so he wants a second opinion. Which, whatever, I mean, I'm the food king! What would he know about delicious food?"

Kiku was too tired from work to argue but did so anyway, "Didn't you say he's a fairly well respected chef?"

"Yeah, but cooking and eating are two totally different skills to master." Alfred defended himself with what he thought was perfectly sound logic.

"I suppose. I'm assuming he actually asked, and you're the one being presumptuous. It's fine either way," he agreed without any enthusiasm, not bothering to look up from his textbook.

"Sweet," Alfred replied, about ready to turn in for the night when he paused and looked at Kiku again, "Would you call a post card an insult or a compliment?"

"As in, getting a post card from someone?" He asked, not looking up.

"As in, the pictures someone may have hypothetically took look like post cards."

"An insult." The response had no hesitation. Alfred set his jaw forward and went to his room to stare very hard at his photos to figure out a way to prove Gilbert wrong. He tore the top off his envelope and almost tore a picture with it before running through each of the photos he had developed.

"Nope. No. What in the? No. Eesh! No…" He muttered to himself, slapping each one down on his bed. He was about to give up when something in one of the reject photos caught his attention. Picking it up, he found it was the one he took of the dancing little girl.

There hadn't been anything special about it when he first looked, but with how it was laid on his covers there seemed to be another figure present. Looking more closely, he found his mystery object was a shadow of sorts. It was created by a tree, shafts of light running through the branches creating something vaguely humanoid.

"I suppose you had a friend after all," Alfred whispered, grinning at the girl with her arms thrown out like wings and a smile of pure bliss.


	8. Chapter 8

The cozy little coffee shop was packed that morning. The warm yellow lights and well used chairs and sofas were a tempting sight for passerby considering how heavy the snowfall was outside. Many people would pause at the wide glass windows, peer in and quickly enter to get warmed up. Alfred couldn't understand it, he himself was practically overheating. Though that may have been due to the fact that he was working behind the counter, running around like a mad man to get everyone their drink orders and trying to keep everything as organized as possible. Out of all the days his coworker couldn't make it to their shift, of course it was this one.

As soon as the rush had died, and there were only a couple people sitting at tables, reading the paper or talking, he took the opportunity to rest against the support beam jutting slightly out of the wall. Wiping sweat from his forehead, he looked up to admire the odd pattern of the ceiling.

"Ya job ain't to piddle about like some fat cat."

Alfred snapped his attention over to his boss, who looked at him crossly. He was a crotchety old man that never had a nice thing to say, especially to Alfred, but would give out a bonus or a free pastry before grumbling about how useless kids were these days. Alfred was incredibly fond of him, and he managed to convince himself that it wasn't because the man reminded him of Arthur.

"Get out of 'ere, ya shift's over."

"But Raquel called in saying she was going to be late, I can stay for a little bit."

"The 'ell ya will. Ya shift's over and I ain't paying ya more'n I 'ave to. I've been runnin' this place since afore ya was born. I can handle a 'ole lifetime by mahself, thank you very much!" Alfred laughingly conceded and grabbed his coat before heading for the door while his boss called after him, "And make sure ya find a ride to come getcha! It's colder'n a witch's tit outside!"

Alfred nodded, taking out his phone and ringing up Kiku who unsurprisingly didn't answer. He pretended to have a quick conversation about getting picked up just around the corner. His boss watched him like a hawk, and Alfred gave him a big grin and a thumbs up before closing his phone and walking off down the street. The snow was coming down heavier than he anticipated, and after waiting twenty minutes after his bus was supposed to come, he was starting to regret not taking his boss's advice seriously. He considered calling Francis, but he didn't want to just use the man for a ride and he felt it would have been too demanding to ask for him to comeout in this type of weather. But as twenty minutes approached forty and still no bus, he broke down and figured it wouldn't hurt to see just how far away the man was staying.

"Oh come one answer…" he muttered, lightly jumping up and down to keep warm.

_"Hello?"_

"Yes! I mean, uh, hey Francis," Alfred shouted into the phone, almost tripping on a hidden crack in the sidewalk, "Hey, do mind telling me where you're staying?"

_"I'm staying at the Blue Bird Motel. Is there something you-"_

"No kidding? That's actually within walking distance. I'll see you in a minute."

 _"Wait, you don't even kno-"_ Alfred hung up before he could get rejected. Looking back down the street and seeing one lone car braving its way slowly forward, he quickly headed up the few blocks to the motel. It was one of those older motels, comprised with two floors and all the doors facing the parking lot like a courtyard. Alfred was about to make his way toward the office when one of the doors a ways down opened and Francis walked out.

Alfred waved at him and in answer the older man crossed his arms and tipped his head to the side like he always would when Alfred did something stupid. He couldn't see from the distance, but Alfred just knew his eyebrows were raised and he was smiling through his confusion. When he approached the nearest flight of stairs, Francis called down at him, "Watch your step, no one has cleared anything off yet."

"Well hello to you too," Alfred laughed, taking no caution and smiling smugly when he reached the landing without incident.

"I only greet invited guests," Francis shot back, heading back into his room with Alfred following.

"I am invited, I invited myself," Alfred argued, taking off his shoes after closing the door. He looked around with vague interest. One lumpy looking bed, an adjacent bath that was too small to be comfortable for an averaged sized person, a television right out of the eighties playing the news and the distinct smell of motel that somehow went with the ugly green carpet.

"I thought I taught you manners." Francis sounded more amused than put upon.

"You haven't taught me squat." Alfred stretched his arms, trying to get rid of the stiffness from the cold.

"Ah-ah-ah, I taught you French." He took Alfred's jacket for him and hung it off of a brass coat hanger that was dull and smudged from years of use.

"No, what you did was refuse to speak any English to me until I learned a little French."

"But you did learn. I suppose you've forgotten it all now."

Alfred shrugged, showing no repentance. Francis just shook his head and walked back over to the bed. He picked up a thick notebook that laid open on the loud pattern of the covers and tossed it into an open suitcase.

"So what brings you by?" he asked, closing the case and locking it.

Alfred looked on in curiosity, eyes flitting between the case and Francis' back. "Sorry about just dropping in. The bus never came and Kiku's at work, so he couldn't come and get me. I figured why not see what you're up to? It kinda just worked out that you were so close."

"Well, you're always welcome where ever I am," Francis said, sitting on the bed and looking up at him expectantly. Alfred stared back, and suddenly became aware of his face going warm. He dismissed it as the heat of the room finally sinking in.

"Thanks. Mind if I use your restroom real quick?" Francis nodded, and Alfred was behind the door faster than he meant to go. Once it was closed behind him he looked at himself in the mirror and shook his head. The wind had ruffled his hair pretty bad, which said something because it was usually a mess, his tan face looked pinched from the cold and his eyes both felt and looked raw. Setting aside his glasses, he bent over the sink and splashed water on himself. He didn't know why he asked to be in here, it was simply the first thing that popped into his head as a way to give himself time to think.

"The weather says the roads are pretty bad," Francis called from the bedroom, while Alfred tried to decide if the complimentary soap could be used for both showers and hands.

"How bad?" he called back, deciding that he could use the miniature soap bar however he pleased and began to lather it in his palm.

"Power grids going out, severe winds and the snow plows haven't made it very far. You're lucky you came over when you did, because I don't think your bus was ever going to show up."

"Are you trying to tell me I'm stuck here?" he asked over the sound of the running tap.

"You sound upset."

"I'm not, just I didn't plan on staying very long," he said, turning off the sink and letting the water drip off his hands while he searched for a towel.

"You don't want to stay the night?" Alfred felt unsettled by the flirty pitch of Francis' voice. He opened the door back up and saw Francis cheekily grinning his way.

"It doesn't seem like I have much of a choice. Is the weather really that bad?"

"Look out the window and see for yourself." Alfred obeyed, opening the tacky linen curtains and staring out toward the road he had walked up. He could barely see to the end of the parking lot, the snow was coming down so heavy. The few cars parked in the lot were buried deep, and there was no way Francis' cheap rental was going to make it out of its parking space much less back to his apartment. He felt that not even a tank could make it safely through the mess. Letting the curtain fall back into place, he turned back to Francis who had been openly watching him the entire time.

"Don't looks so uncomfortable, relax," Francis laughed. Alfred noted that it was actually a very soft laugh; then again Francis' voice was soft in general. He nodded stiffly, and sat down in the battered wooden chair by the wall facing the bed. Alfred knew Francis was entertained by his odd behavior, but he made himself look as comfortable as possible anyway. He twiddled his thumbs absently, while Francis seemed more than okay with the silence stretching between them. Well, he certainly didn't think this through very well, and now he was stuck there for who knew how long.


	9. Chapter 9

Francis eventually got bored with staring Alfred down. He turned over to the television, crossing one leg over his knee and resting an elbow on it while his eyes turned glassy and unfocused with inattention. Alfred still sat in the stiff wooden chair, twiddling his thumbs and eyes roving around the room absently. He was dying to talk to Francis since their last little chat, but he still didn't know what to say. He could accept that he had misunderstood Francis in some ways, but there was still uncertainty there. He decided that there was no use agonizing about it when the man with all the answers was sitting right there.

"I don't even know where to begin thanking you."

"Well it's not like I'd let you freeze to death," Francis said, briefly looking back over at Alfred before directing his attention to the pretty young weather girl that now appeared on the screen. Alfred could tell he wasn't really seeing her, considering his face was devoid of the look of contentment he usually got when he spotted something visually pleasing.

"Not that. Though I am grateful for you having me over, I was talking about you raising me." Alfred shifted in the chair restlessly, his body and his head refusing to work together.

"Raising you really isn't the right wording is it? Even when you were living with me, I was hardly around and you were practically an adult by then." His attention was undividedly on Alfred again, and Alfred tried not to feel gratified by it.

"But that wasn't your fault. And you gave be a home, food, looked after me when you could. You gave me a place where I was able to feel… free?" Before Alfred could get carried away, he sat on the edge of the chair and held out his hands in a pleading gesture. "I guess I don't understand why you were so indulging of me when you were having your own problems."

Francis wore the perfect poker face, "I wasn't indulging you." Alfred made a noise of disbelief, to which Francis responded, "I wasn't. Certainly I was baffled by you wanting me as your guardian at first. You and Arthur were quite close, so I believed that what was going on between you two would eventually blow over. I was simply waiting for you to give in and make up, and go back to infuriating each other in your usual way."

Alfred leaned forward, eyes locked onto Francis' mouth as he tried to process the information. Francis looked like he was halfway between smiling and frowning as he continued, "When you still refused to speak to him after a couple weeks, I was actually on the verge of dragging you back to him kicking and screaming if I had to." This was news to Alfred. He never remembered Francis ever giving any inclination of doing something so drastic. Then again, Francis didn't give any inclination towards many things. Which was becoming more abundantly clear the more 'talks' they both had.

"Obviously I didn't." He settled on smiling when he saw the confusion on Alfred's face. "Mostly because you finally let on what you were so mad about. I could never throw anyone out when I used to be in the same position as them."

"He tried to force you into working in the accounting firm?" Alfred asked disbelievingly.

Francis smiled sadly and shook his head, "No, but our grandfathers started the business together. When we moved to the States, everyone naturally thought that we were going to set up shop here. He assumed that I was going to follow my father and inherit the business, and he was going to do the same. He never quite forgave me after I told him I wouldn't, saying I was a fool for thinking I'd ever become anything as a chef. Once he sent me a birthday card, congratulating me on a lucrative career as a burger flipper after I took over my first restaurant." To Alfred's surprise, Francis looked wistful rather than upset by the memory. Usually he didn't like talking about his early career, the disappointment even after all his accomplishments afterwards was sometimes too much to bear.

"He'll never understand men like us, who long for the freedom we find in doing the things we love. When you said you wanted to forge your own path instead of doing what he wanted, it was like finding a kindred spirit. Someone else who doesn't have hobbies, but passions. To see that fire in your eyes …Well, it was like looking into a less handsome mirror." Alfred scowled at the little jab, and Francis chuckled briefly at the reaction.

"Look at me carrying on like this, I really have gotten long in the tooth." His good humor faded and he rubbed at his temples, "It's true I wanted to make him hurt for a very long time, Alfred. And yes, it mostly had to do with him not giving me back Mathieu. But by the time I was old and you were grown up, it all seemed ridiculous and, quite frankly, exhausting. I wanted to help you because I understood you, and I'm sorry I never made that clear."

Alfred could only nod, not even sure what he was agreeing to. But he didn't dare speak. The impassioned tone Francis spoke in seemed to take up the entire space of the room, encompassing everything and sweeping Alfred away with it. Letting Francis say his piece became something of the utmost importance and he impatiently waited for more. When it became obvious that Francis wasn't going to go on, Alfred battled with himself for a moment as to what to do. Looking at the older man determinedly, he huffed and heaved himself from the chair. He made his way over to him in quick strides, and Francis looked up with slight worry when he saw the grave expression on Alfred's face. He was about to stand, when Alfred sat next to him with a heavy thump.

Seeing that it was his turn to be confused, he didn't resist when Alfred took a hold of his shoulders, making him face the usually youthful features now set into severe lines of concentration. Next thing he knew, he was roughly pulled forward and two strong arms had wrapped themselves around his torso tightly. Blinking at the wall over Alfred's shoulder, he uncertainly brought his own arms up and hugged back. Lightly patting at the boney shoulder blades, he tried to look over when he heard the sound of a muffled voice come distantly from where Alfred had his head buried in his shoulder.

"What?" Francis wasn't sure if his own voice was shaky from surprise or the constricting embrace he found himself in.

"I'm so sorry. I've been an idiot," Alfred repeated, easier to hear once he lifted his head up. Francis' body relaxed and he pulled back to face Alfred. The younger blonde's face was almost comically upset, and Francis felt his shoulder jerk a little when a laugh was diverted as a heavy exhale through his nose.

"We've both been idiots." He ruffled Alfred's hair into an even worse state, and despite his annoyance Alfred grinned.

"So! We're sharing the bed, yes?" He pried himself away from Alfred, who leaned back and tried to hide the way he wiped at his eyes when he thought Francis wasn't looking.

"Depends," the smile dropped off of Alfred's face when he was reminded of his position, "Do you still sleep naked? 'Cause I don't want that nasty surprise again. Also stay on your side. I mean it."

"It's too cold to sleep naked. Especially in a motel, so you can put your fears to rest," he said nonchalantly, and then getting a wicked grin, "For now, at least."

"That's not funny," Alfred muttered darkly and made himself comfortable as he took his own turn watching the television. It was one of those infomercials on diet and exercise, and he tried not to feel jealous repulsion by how huge some of the biceps on the men were.

"Here's hoping the weather will clear up by tomorrow. I need to get all my shopping done," Francis said conversationally, rummaging through his suitcase again but pulling out a different notebook from before. He threw himself down on the bed, letting it bounce the both of them and smiling over at Alfred's unamused glare.

"Does it have to be tomorrow? You still have a couple days," he said, trying to look at the new notebook inconspicuously, but ended up nearly spraining an eyeball from the effort.

"The sooner the better. This late in the week there might not be that much selection left as it is," Francis responded lightly, looking up at Alfred knowingly as he flipped through a mess of chicken scratch and leaned back against the headboard.

"That's true," Alfred tugged idly at the sheets and nibbled at his bottom lip before asking, "You want me to come with? I know a store that's usually cheaper than the big chain ones."

"That would be nice, thank you."

Alfred nodded again, then tenuously moved back and leaned against the headboard with him. Not much else occurred, though both got a little irritated and restless as the day stretched on and it sunk in how cooped up they were. After a while, Francis took to making lists for imaginary meals he never planned on cooking and Alfred was an expert at protein shakes and exercise machines thanks to the perky blond on the screen trying to get him to call her '1-800' number. When the sun started going down, Alfred eventually gave up on staying awake and rolled over on the bed with his back to Francis before dropping off to sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

The first thing Alfred noticed was that his room was colder than normal. Reluctantly opening his eyes he saw a ceiling that wasn't the smooth, creamy white he was used to but a rough terrain of sickly grey. Sitting up and looking around, he observed that he was in a room that was most certainly not his own if the lack of anything recognizable meant anything. The realization would have been worrying, but as he slowly came into wakefulness everything from yesterday started coming back to him. Sleepily directing his attention to his right, he saw that the other side of the bed was very much empty. Alfred joked with himself that he wasn't the first or last person to be jilted by Francis in the morning. Getting up and stretching, he freshened himself up as best he could and turned on the news when he was done. The roads weren't too bad, but everything was still slow going.

"Well, at least he isn't stuck out there somewhere," he said, sitting on the bed and waiting. By the time the news was over and television people were trying to sell him things again, he started to get worried.

Just as he was entertaining the idea of swinging by the police station and filing a missing persons report, the door flew open. Francis came stomping in, knocking snow off his boots and carrying two drinks and a paper bag. Alfred sprung to his feet and hurried over to him, setting aside the things he carried on the small table by the door and helping him with his coat.

"Thank you," Francis took back his coat before turning his back to him so quickly that Alfred was left blinking for a moment.

"Where'd you go? I was beginning to think you were sticking me with the bill," Alfred joked, wanting to ask about the weird melancholy vibe Francis was giving off but deciding he was overreacting. Maybe Francis just wasn't a morning person?

"You were sleeping so soundly, I didn't have the heart to wake you. So I stepped out for a smoke and got some breakfast while I was at it," for emphasis he threw a pack of cigarettes alongside everything else. Alfred noticed it was freshly opened from the way the cellophane still hung off of it and the crisp edges on the box.

"I thought you quit," Alfred said, picking up the paper bag and peering in at the donuts it held, "Where did you get these?"

"I did," Francis shrugged, sitting at the cramped table and picking up his drink, "I walked to that gas station just over on the corner." Before Alfred could gawk at him braving the elements just for a bite to eat he went on, "The sidewalk was clear and a little exercise never hurt anybody. Besides, the sun's been out and has been melting things pretty good."

"Oh… Well thanks," he made himself comfortable on the floor at the foot of the bed, munching on a donut and sipping at his coffee while watching Francis drink his own.

"Wan' wun?" he spoke around a mouthful of pastry and held out the bag.

"No thank you, I'm not keen on sweets."

"So just cigarettes and coffee for you?" Alfred asked after choking down his food.

"I don't have much of an appetite in the morning," he answered, leaning on his elbows and staring off at the wall.

"Who doesn't like breakfast?"Alfred asked with a cheeky grin that went unseen as Francis refused to look away from what was so fascinating on the other side of the room.

"I might make an exception and enjoy some of that frosting around your mouth if you don't stop interrogating me," he said with a hollow smirk as Alfred hurriedly wiped at his lips before his expression went blank again.

"Something wrong? You seem out of it."

"I get that way when I've been kept up all night," he murmured, but seeing the confused look on Alfred's face prompted him to explain in a less harsh tone, "You're like a heat seeking missile. If it wasn't your arms, it was your legs. If it wasn't your legs, you were hogging the sheets. It was impressive really."

Alfred rubbed the nape of his neck sheepishly, "Sorry, I thought I out grew that. Matt would complain about it too. And Arthur hated when I'd get nightmares 'cause I'd be kicking him all night."

"You were having a nightmare?" Francis snapped his eyes to Alfred again, concern coloring his voice.

"No- well I don't know. It's just a sleeping habit."

"How strange. Actually it makes me sad. Matthew never came to me with any nightmares or anything," he managed to force himself to sound pouty, but his tone fell flat and all Alfred could do was look him up and down appraisingly.

"Don't take it personally. He's not the type of guy to bother people no matter how scared he gets."

The conversation died there. Alfred finished his meal and stared at Francis staring straight ahead of himself. His eyes were glassed over in thought and occasionally his lip would twitch as if he meant to say something. Alfred thought he looked possessed. After a time, and after observing the slight dark rings under Francis' eyes, guilt sunk in on him. Francis was probably only tired, the man practically admitted to it. But it was his fault. Therefore, it was his duty to cheer him up.

"How 'bout I get your car out of the snow? Those groceries aren't going to buy themselves and I'm sure it's buried in pretty deep still." He shot to his feet and placed his hands on his hips in an attempt to look dashing, or at least determined.

Francis wasn't buying it, "You don't have a shovel." Alfred counted his wry smile as a personal win anyway.

"I'll improvise!"

He got up and threw on his coat and was reaching for the door when Francis piped up, "Wait up!"

Alfred smiled as he watched Francis pull on his own coat, "You don't have to. You bought breakfast for me."

Francis shook his head and stubbornly, "Surely you don't expect me to just sit up here while you labor away. I'm not a princess."

"Never said you were. And don't call me Shirley," Alfred started to laugh at his own joke before quickly aborting when he saw that Francis didn't get it.

"Ahem. Shall we?" Francis finally cracked a genuine smile and followed him outside.

They were out there longer than Alfred anticipated. After a half hour of mishaps and no progress the front desk clerk eventually wandered out with a shovel and a bucket of gravel, crowing about the show they had given him. The old man wouldn't stop bringing up how Alfred slipped and set off the horn in an accidental swan dive while trying to push and steer the car out of a slick patch of snow and Francis wouldn't stop laughing every time either. Alfred, meanwhile, sullenly scraped ice off the windows and dutifully ignored them. He would forever pretend nothing had transpired, and Francis would always mockingly swoon at Alfred's 'improvising abilities.'

Despite the methods, the car was finally free to make a slow tumble toward the now bare roads. Alfred leaned up against the car, allowing his wet clothes to dry in the meek winter sunlight. Francis took up the space next to him, waving a friendly good bye to the jovial clerk.

"It feels different," Alfred said randomly, resting his head on his arms folded on top of the car roof.

"What's different?" Francis asked, fumbling a cigarette from his pocket and still giggling like a school girl every time he looked over at Alfred.

"Us," Francis' face became slightly crestfallen and strained at the response, "Now that we've kinda laid it all bare it feels a lot different, dontcha think?"

Francis pulled the cigarette from his lips and contemplated the thin wisps of smoke dancing their way up and out, "I suppose you're right. Can't expect things to go back to how they were." He took a long drag before dropping the cigarette and stubbing it out in the slush. "Not after everything."

Alfred nodded, then leaned over and nudged Francis with his shoulder and said in a sing song voice, "Sorry for ruining your beauty rest. I'll make it up to you."

"It's not even a big deal, I was just being cranky."

"Let me make it up to you anyway," Alfred felt oddly excited at the thoughtful expression that passed over Francis' face before making his offer, "I could drive. You being so tired isn't good for driving, and you're always giving me rides. Let me chauffer you around for once."

Francis looked between the car and Alfred apprehensively, "Do you even have a license?"

"I got it when I was eighteen, not long after-well the thing is I have it."

Francis hooded his eyes as he pulled his keys out of his pant pocket. He fiddled with them briefly before seeming to come to a decision and holding them out.

"I trust you."

Alfred felt elated.


	11. Chapter 11

They arrived at the store in surprisingly short order. Francis pried himself away from the passenger seat, the nail marks he left behind more than likely permanent after every anxious squeeze made when Alfred would point out something along the road that was most certainly not directly in front of him. He managed to repress the memories of the two left turns they made but a particular lane change was still haunting him. He always thought of car horns as useless, but after today he was going to have to start admiring them.

Looking out the window he observed that the building they pulled up to looked a little shady for his tastes, but he was more than grateful to get out of the car for any reason. He made a quick note to himself to figure out a way to convince Alfred he was all better and that he would do the driving after they were done. They both exited the car, Alfred spinning the keys and whistling while looking self impressed. Francis stiffly made his way to Alfred and gripped his hand while staring ahead in horror.

"You're going to have to lead me. I've gone blind from fear."

"Stop overreacting, I wasn't that bad." Alfred said cajolingly. But a woman walked by and glared pointedly at them, so he hastily took back his hand and started for the store. Alfred walked with purpose until he reached the automatic doors, there was always enough of a delayed reaction with the blasted things to make him think he was about to walk headlong into the glass. Doing an ungraceful shuffle when they opened, he turned to grab a cart and ended up in a losing fight as the metal of the one he had taken a hold of was enmeshed with another. He gave up when he felt something bump lightly against his thigh, and looked to see Francis trying to hand him a basket.

"Just one of those days?" he said sympathetically when Alfred grabbed the handles.

"I just want to help," he was already starting to get real tired of his face going red with humiliation.

"And you've been doing a fine job with that. You just get a little too eager," Francis patted his shoulder before leading Alfred to the produce section.

"You don't mind any of this staying at your place, right?" he asked, clicking his tongue and shaking his head at the colorful piles of vegetables.

"It's fine. I assumed everything was going to be kept there anyway," Alfred leaned over a group of eggplant and poked at one, pretending to check its ripeness, "What're you making anyway?"

"I was thinking something with noodles," he leaned over the eggplants with Alfred, "I like penne."

"I like the way you think," Alfred said with a laugh, watching as Francis cupped his chin and raised his eyes to the ceiling as he agonized over what he wanted to do.

"I have too many ideas. What do you think your friend would like?"

"You can stick with the penne. I know he likes noodles," though now that Alfred thought about it, he wasn't sure what Kiku ate, if anything. No, that wasn't true. He saw him nibbling at some crackers once when he came home from work early one day.

"I could make Alfredo," Francis suggested, looking satisfied with what he was sure was an excellent pun.

"Cute," Alfred replied flatly. They bounced ideas off each other like that for a while, eventually circling the produce section after they found themselves in the way of other shoppers. Rounding by the eggplants again, they decided on eggplant parmesan with penne and Francis insisting on making bread as well. Alfred didn't want him to end up doing too much, but the older man seemed excited about the idea, so he heartily agreed when asked.

They waited in line and approached the register after the middle aged woman in front of them finally wrapped up her story about one of her children and scrambled out the door with gratuitous goodbyes to the cashier and bagger. Francis set the basket down and the cashier started to pass the items over the scanner when he greeted her. The surprise on her face was minute, but the way her eyes widened slightly before a small and obviously coy grin slid its way across her glossy lips, Alfred could immediately tell she was a sucker for an accent. One compliment he would ever give Arthur over Francis was that as doe-eyed as girls got over his voice, his abrasiveness would eventually drive them away to be annoying somewhere else. Unfortunately, Francis really did have a natural appeal with women, no matter how overbearing he was, and Alfred resigned himself to watching the perky brunette attempt to vamp it up.

"Looks like you got quite the meal planned," she said, briefly flashing her pearly whites and straightening her posture. Alfred found her voice high pitched and grating.

"Well Thanksgiving is coming up after all," Francis replied, not seeming the least bit bothered by the awkward flirtation he had been lassoed into.

Cute as she was, Alfred had come to not like her very much within moments. One tittering girlish giggle later and Alfred was feeling less than gentlemanly and very irritated. Couldn't the girl just shut up and ring them through?

He eyed her hands as they slowly passed the groceries over to the bagger, she would glance up at Francis every other moment and Alfred was beginning to feel that she was drawing out the encounter as long as she could. He took to staring down one of the tabloid magazines lined up along the counter in an attempt to ignore them. A newly married celebrity couple simply smiled back at him, which somehow worsened his mood.

"So are you and your brother from out of town?" came the cashier's squeaky voice again. Alfred's eye twitched at the word 'brother.'

"Oh, we're not brothers," Francis replied automatically, causing Alfred to look up. The girl's grin went taught, and her whole face seemed petrified as his answer sunk in.

"Oh," she replied, voice somehow even higher. Alfred knew exactly the conclusion she made, the same as the woman from the parking lot. He wanted to correct her, seeing as Francis didn't seem to realize the effect his words had, but he was too busy trying not to laugh. Needless to say, their check out went by quickly afterwards and they were grabbing their bags and leaving in no time.

Exiting the store, both braved the random patches of ice that hadn't melted yet on the already uneven pavement. Alfred looked down into the bag of groceries he was carrying, trying to put his random spell of irritation aside and the strange feeling of gloating after the cashier's disappointment. But the more he tried to get over it, the more he thought about it and his feelings only intensified. He got to the point where he couldn't take it anymore.

"That cashier seemed pretty smitten with you. You should have asked her out," he was pleased that he managed to sound joking.

"Hm, I didn't notice," Francis looked back toward the store in consideration.

"You don't seriously expect me to believe that all of that flew over your head?" Good, he was still keeping it light hearted. He wasn't coming off anywhere near how he felt. But Francis frowned over at him, and he feared that maybe he wasn't keeping his frustration well hidden after all.

"Everyone in this country is overly friendly like that," he raised one delicate brow and said dryly, "Besides, you never notice when girls are interested in you."

"When are girls interested in me?" his irritation dissolved and he had a spring in his step again.

"They always have been. When you were in high school you broke the heart of every 'friend' you had because you couldn't understand what they really wanted from you."

"You mean they didn't like me?" Francis mistook Alfred's response for sarcasm until he saw the look of hurt on his young face. Then he just felt bad.

"They liked you. It's just they wanted more from you than a smile and a study partner."

Alfred snorted, "Well I hope they were crushed if that's all they were interested in. I was busy trying to have a future…" Alfred tapered off, muttering darkly about 'proving certain people wrong' and 'other things to think about.' Francis laughed at what he heard, his voice carrying across the street and causing passerby to turn and look at him like he was crazy. It wasn't an unfair assumption.

Quickly wiping at his eye he asked in a teasing voice, "What? You've never been sweet on someone?"

"No," Alfred replied indignantly, "I didn't see any reason to worry about that kind of thing. If it happens it happens."

"Interesting attitude considering your age," Francis said, stopping at the car and staring at him with a look of interest.

"Well it's worked for me so far," he unlocked the back seat and set the groceries on the floor. Finished, he headed toward the driver's seat when Francis stepped in his way.

"I'll drive," he said too loudly and too quickly, "I'll be driving back from your place anyway, and I'm quite awake from the… walking we've done."

Alfred didn't believe him but surrendered the keys all the same. Francis didn't stay long after he drove them to Alfred's apartment and helped stuff as much of the groceries into the fridge as possible. Alfred was seeing him off when Kiku came up the steps, looking strained when he was greeted by the two blondes simultaneously. Francis got overly handsy with him, and was gone after Kiku was sufficiently ruffled.

Alfred laughed at the grumpy look Kiku shot him, "What?"

Kiku looked him up and down briefly before sighing, "Nothing." He hid in his room the rest of the day, ignoring Alfred's less than subtle attempts to coax him outside.


	12. Chapter 12

"Mr. Bonnefoy can come over as much as he wants if he keeps cooking for us," Kiku said off handedly, looking over the couch at Francis bustling about their small kitchen.

"He'd probably come over even if you had a restraining order," Alfred answered distractedly, wholly absorbed in killing zombies.

"If his food tastes as good as it smells he won't have to worry about that," he tapped his pen on the notebook in his lap, the page still empty.

"Damn, I got bitten- Yeah he's pretty good, being a professional and all. Surprised I didn't get fat living with him."

"I'm surprised you're not fat with the things you eat now," he looked over to see Alfred die again, "He should run a restaurant."

"He used to," Alfred answered, not elaborating and throwing down his controller in frustration.

Kiku knew when to drop something, so he amended his inquiry, "Surely there were other people he could've asked who actually know something about cooking for this?"

"Hey, he insisted and the guy loves to cook. He'd feel insulted if we didn't let him," he turned off his game and started flipping through all three of their channels, which always annoyed Kiku.

"I just feel awkward. Are you certain I'm not intruding on your time together?"

"What? Would you rather fly out to California and spend Thanksgiving with your family?"

Kiku seemed to go pale at the thought, "No, they're very rowdy. Especially when we're all together."

"That's what I thought, so relax. 'Sides he likes you."

"Shouldn't we at least help him?"

"Nah, he's kind of a control freak. Not to mention he gets all bent out of shape if you take a few bites here and there. Which is dumb, 'cause it's all gonna get eaten anyway."

Kiku glared at him for a solid moment, before replying knowingly, "He banned you from the kitchen, so you decided to play video games."

Avoiding eye contact, Alfred set down the remote and laughed it off, "No way, I'm just respecting his space. In fact, I'm going to check on him now."

Moving away quickly, he shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled into the kitchen with a smile. Francis had just thrown a bunch of pasta into a pot, and seemed to be very lost in his own world, leaving Alfred time to stand and observe him. He wasn't sure if it was the photographer in him or what, but he became distracted by the way Francis' shoulders would round over every time he'd lean forward or how the muscles in his neck would tense with the slightest movement now that his long hair was pulled out of the way. Alfred vaguely thought to himself that Francis should always have his hair tied back. With little deliberation he walked over and leaned against the counter, watching Francis' expert hands slice into an eggplant with rapid motion.

"I thought I told you to stay out of the kitchen," Francis warned without any bite, eyes dedicated to his task.

"I see what you mean now when you said I reminded you of a chef."

Francis stopped and looked at him abruptly.

Alfred's confidence wavered but he went on, "When you're cooking you make me think of a painter, or like a sculptor. Something artsy y'know?"

Francis blinked slowly, and continued to stare at Alfred with his hands paused over the food.

Alfred fumbled through another sentence, feeling even more the idiot, "I really get it now, is all. I thought it was weird at first, but now I get what you were feeling when you said it."

Realization slowly dawned on Francis' face as he slightly parted his lips into an 'o' and set down his knife. "Well I'm glad you understand," he said with eyes roving the spaces around Alfred, unwilling to look him in the eye, "It was a weird thing to say, wasn't it?"

"No way! Well kinda, but not really- I guess I..." Alfred waved his hands around uselessly, as if he could physically catch the sentence he wanted to string together, "It's fun to watch people do things they love. Makes me wish I was crazy good like that."

Francis' look of surprise faded into one of pure affection. Alfred was happy to note it wasn't the 'paternal' looks he was used to receiving. He always felt they were somehow condescending, like he was an adorable child and said something precocious. But lately he was pleased to feel like Francis wasn't treating him like he was a kid, and he hadn't infuriatingly referred to himself as 'big brother' in a while either.

"Maybe I can teach you basic cooking skills sometime? You can't subsist on instant noodles your whole life," Francis offered, turning back to the eggplant.

"That'd be awesome," Alfred answered excitedly, "You sure I haven't been ruined though? I'm not exactly used to fine dining and, well, holding knives and stuff."

"You're salvageable. Now get out of here, you're distracting me," Francis feigned an attempted smack him on the butt that got Alfred hightailing it out of the kitchen in no time.

Feeling giddy, he sat back down on the couch with Kiku, turning on him with a cheeky grin that stretched past his second molars. Kiku's response was an expression of pity, but Alfred continued smiling anyway. "What?" he asked, irritation niggling at him caused by the unwavering appraisal.

"Your relationship with Francis seems to have improved markedly," he said in the same way that he would when commenting on Alfred's messiness when he didn't want to outright ask him to clean.

"Yeah, so what? We worked a few things out," Alfred said, feeling oddly defensive.

"I'm just happy for you. It seemed like you had quite a few problems you had to get through, and I wasn't sure if you were ever going to reconcile," he explained, now changing to his 'I'm going to indulge your ignorance to make my point' voice.

"Things weren't what I thought they were," Alfred admitted, huffing lightly and looking back over at Francis, "I misjudged him and made a rash decision in the past. So I'm trying to give him the benefit of the doubt now, and I think he's doing the same for me."

"So you're friends now?" Kiku's tone implied a need for confirmation more than an actual answer. Alfred nodded reflexively and then immediately regretted it. 'Friends' wasn't the right word. Honestly, he wasn't sure he'd ever know what the right word would be. He never could identify exactly how he felt about the family dynamic he was raised in, and once it all went to pot labeling people in his life as 'father' or 'brother' became impossible.

Stewing in his thoughts, Alfred lost track of time and nearly fell off the couch when Francis called for them to come eat. He hastily set the table, slapping the plates down on it in a way that caused both Francis and Kiku to wince. The moment everything was ready and they were all seated, Alfred devoured his food in the blink of an eye. Kiku looked on in horror while Francis seemed pleased.

"You eat so enthusiastically I find it hard not to take it as a compliment, Alfred."

"I'z goo'," he told him around a mouthful of bread, " 'Uo go'a ea' tha' Kiku?"

"Why don't you have some water?" Kiku slid a glass over to his friend, trying to school his expression into one of polite indifference.

Unfortunately for Kiku, he caught Francis' attention again, "Mr. Honda," Alfred couldn't decide if Francis calling him that was mocking, or if he just enjoyed calling him mister like a teacher would refer to his students, "I hear you're going to school as well? What are you studying?"

Kiku's frown was the small one he got whenever he was receiving attention that he didn't really want, "Biochemistry at University of Missouri for now." With that, Kiku sealed his fate. Francis latched onto that topic thread immediately, and Kiku was left to answer a slew of questions the entire dinner between bites of food when he could manage. Francis impressively was able to eat all of his meal not too long after Alfred despite speaking ceaselessly with Kiku.

Alfred felt content watching Kiku squirm while Francis leered forward and would make a saucy remark every so often that would cause the young man to blush beet red. Alfred gnawed thoughtlessly at his fork as he stared at the two of them, Kiku was now trying to explain the basics of what he learned and Francis would smile and get the look of a kid that was just told about space flight. His eyes eventually rested solely on Francis after a time, taking in his lively chatter, and more specifically watching his mouth every time he sipped at the wine he had brought over. Half aware that he was being creepy, Alfred narrowed his eyes at Francis' lips the moment he would pull his glass away, revealing a soft redness to them that Alfred couldn't help but think was a pretty color. He wasn't sure why he was so fascinated with his stained lips, until an idea came to him. Smirking, Alfred leaned back and started plotting, missing the worried look his companions exchanged. He never did learn when to keep his gloating giggles internalized.


	13. Chapter 13

The cool hard surface of the counter was a welcome seat to Alfred as he received the washed plates Francis would hand him to dry off. They had been at it for only a couple of minutes but were already almost done with clean up. The night outside was cool and crisp, not a cloud in sight, and Alfred was happily full without almost bursting at the seams. He sleepily watched Francis dip his hands into the pool of water in the sink, employing his skill in every stage of the meal and Alfred felt he had no choice but to admire that.

What was even more admirable though was the way he convinced Kiku to go write his paper instead of helping them clean up. Kiku was a force to be reckoned with he felt obligated to relieve someone from whatever chore they were doing. When Francis started the sink, Alfred was sure his friend was going to have a stroke as he rushed over to try and take over. Going on the whole time about 'not letting guests do all the work' and Alfred just laughed as Francis masterfully dodged. If Alfred didn't know any better, he'd say those oddly compromising positions that he baited Kiku into were purely coincidental for all the acting Francis did.

"You know how you offered to teach me some cooking?" Alfred asked, suddenly reminded of his little conspiracy.

Francis hummed his ascent, not looking up as he handed Alfred another plate.

"Well, I was wondering if you wanted to be involved in my photography," Francis looked over at him, eyebrows slightly pulled downward but a small smile quirking on his lips.

"Only if you want to of course!" Alfred added.

"It shouldn't be a problem. I always felt it was a waste that I never did any modeling for those woefully repressed art students in my school days. Lending you my 'form' would be-"

"No," Alfred cut in, "No nudity."

"You're really no fun sometimes," Francis responded, playing up his dejection, "So is that what you were giggling about at dinner?"

"No."

Francis took that as a 'yes', and wasn't wrong in doing so.

"What would you have me do?"

Alfred tapped at his chin, pursing his lips and his eyes roving the ceiling.

"It's hard to explain," he thrummed his fingers on the fake marble surface. "Hold on." He hopped down and rushed off, leaving Francis to cluck his tongue after him.

"He's too excitable," Francis said to himself with a smile, finishing up the last dish. By the time Alfred bounded back into the kitchen, Francis made himself comfortable at the table with another glass of wine. He smiled over the lip of the glass at Alfred as the young man sat down and moved recklessly close, noting the picture poised in his long fingers.

"You know those pictures that got me sick?"

"I recall you getting yourself sick, but go on," Francis chuckled, silently offering Alfred some wine.

He shook his head hastily, causing his short blonde hair to bounce every which way, "No, thank you. Anyway, this was one of them."

He handed over the photo for Francis to look at. Setting aside his drink, he held it up toward the weak light under the microwave to see better with.

"Cute kid. You know her?"

"No, she was just playing around outside my class," Alfred leaned over into Francis' space to look at the picture with him. Francis adjusted his position so he didn't have to crane his neck, throwing his arm over the back of Alfred's chair and scooting a little nearer.

"You want me to dance around for you?" Francis asked flirtatiously. Alfred jokingly slapped him on the chest without any force.

"You wish. But I don't think my idea is any better."

"And what is your idea?"

"Well, you see anything here?" Alfred pointed to the shadow figure next to the girl.

"Oh, it looks like a person," Francis said with interest, leaning forward and lightly bracing himself on Alfred's shoulder.

Alfred was subconsciously very aware of his own body and fidgeted restlessly, "That's what I thought too. I was thinking of doing a project along the lines of the 'unexpected'. Things hidden in plain sight, or like optical illusions. I'm not going to use this picture though."

Francis whipped his head around and pierced Alfred with his own special brand of the kicked puppy look, "Why not?"

"It's not a good picture," he replied, Francis' expression clearly indicated his disagreement, "Well it's not a good picture for what I want to do. I didn't set it up on purpose to be like that, and not a lot of people would be able to spot the shadow dude on their own. So that means that anyone that would be judging or grading me might not see it either. My plan is to have things clearly visible to people, without having to slap a big red arrow on and say 'look here!'"

"I guess if you know what you're doing..." Francis said uncertainly, only slightly mollified.

"I do," Alfred assured, unable to contain his smile as he watched Francis continue to admire the photo, "Do you want it?"

Francis slightly jumped in surprise at the question, "Want what?"

"The picture," Alfred said with a laugh, nodding toward Francis' hand, "You seem to like it, and I certainly won't be needing it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yep! It's kinda like when you make food for people to enjoy instead of eating it all yourself. It's not going to do anybody any good sitting under my bed with the rest of my stuff."

"Well thank you. I get a little piece of you to remind me by for when I leave."

Alfred knew Francis meant to sound grateful, in fact he looked nothing short of elated, but he still wanted to snatch the picture back and squirrel it away so that it would never be seen again.

"Are you going to be leaving soon then?" Alfred tried not to remember when he couldn't wait for Francis to go away.

"Not too soon, but I have to go back to New York eventually."

"Are you living there again?"

"Essentially. I'm currently splitting rent costs with a friend."

"You're paying rent even though you're out here?" Alfred sputtered. Francis nodded calmly, like it was no big deal.

"Of course. I'm still a renter there, even if I'm out here visiting."

Alfred's mind reeled. Rent costs, the cost of the motel room, the car and everything else in between hailed on him in a nightmare of sums and dollar signs, "Do you want to stay here with me and Kiku? So you don't have to keep shelling out cash for that motel room?" Francis sized Alfred up while he drained the rest of his wine, licking his lips thoughtfully when he was done.

Absently tracing the rim, Francis smiled more to himself than anything, "Sweet of you, but no. It's not a real problem for my finances at all. I think you tend to forget just how well I've done career wise."

Alfred's face burned in shame, "Sorry. You have been great, even I know that. Actually, if I'd have known you'd be doing so well without some teenager to babysit I'd have left sooner."

"Don't joke about that," Francis' voice was low and icy. Alfred looked up to see a contorted frown twisted on his lips and a steady, sever gleam in his eyes.

"I was miserable when you left. I ended up settling my debt from working so much because there was no point in going home anymore. You leaving wasn't some unexpected relief." Alfred gulped, wanting to say something but frozen in place, hypnotized by Francis' gaze. He didn't even flinch when Francis reached over and took up one of his hands.

"You sell yourself too short sometimes," he stated simply, smiling once again. Alfred relaxed and smiled back.

"Anyway, we've gotten quite distracted, haven't we?" Francis gave Alfred's hand an apologetic pat and withdrew. Alfred resisted making a grab for it and listened on instead, "What exactly was it you'll be having me do? More details this time."

Alfred was flushed with embarrassment again, "That. Well, you might think I'm weird for it but…"


	14. Chapter 14

The thing that Kiku wanted most in the world at that moment was to fall asleep in his very cozy bed and not wake up for a couple of hours. He hadn't done something like that since before he started kindergarten. So the moment he opened the apartment door, it took him a moment to process that there was someone sitting on the arm of the couch.

His brain whirred into action, disposing of the horrific memories at work of an elderly man that didn't understand why floppy discs and CD's didn't go in the same slot, and catching up with the fact that there was a woman lounging in his living room.

She didn't look up when Kiku walked in, her stocking clad legs were crossed rather primly and her hands fiddled with the pleated hem of her blue dress. She'd randomly brush at the smooth fabric of the skirt, head moving slightly as she looked around the room in boredom. Kiku's eyes then zeroed in on to the worn leather jacket she had on, the brown material stiffly giving under her minute movements.

"Ah," he said reflexively, recognizing the coat she was wearing as the bomber jacket Alfred would randomly decide to never take off for weeks on end.

Kiku was beginning to think that maybe he was interrupting something, until the woman turned around. Then he knew that he was definitely interrupting something. And he was sure it was an activity of the most private nature.

"Monsieur Honda!" Francis (for it was indeed the Frenchman) jumped to his feet and strode over in a pair of deep red heels with more grace than what should have been legal.

 _What the fu-_ "How are you Mr. Bonnefoy?" Kiku meant to bow his head in greeting, but ended up doing a jerky bob when he noticed Francis was both wearing makeup as well as unshaven.

"Always so courteous," Francis commented cheerfully, "I'm well! Though I can't say the same for you. Are you alright?"

"I am well also. Forgive me, your appearance was… unexpected."

Francis had the nerve to look confused for a moment before launching into a ridiculously flowery speech, "Oh you mean this old thing? I'm not what I used to be, but I think I can still pull this color off. I dare anyone to say that I can't fight off age! You actually have good timing, how do I look?"

Francis struck an over the top pose and threw him a saucy wink.

"Alrighty! Ready to go!" came Alfred's voice before Kiku could answer, followed by the man himself. He strode out of his room, attention fully on the camera in his hands as he unknowingly strode between Francis and Kiku. Looking up, he was turned away and oblivious to Kiku's presence as he addressed Francis, "Why are you wearing my jacket?"

"I was cold. This dress is rather scandalous, you must give my regards to the neighbor you borrowed it from," Francis said with a smirk, then pointing for Alfred to turn around, "Don't be rude. Your roommate is home."

Alfred tripped over himself in his attempt to face Kiku, "Oh hey! When'd you get back?"

"Just now," Kiku said flatly, "Francis greeted me."

"Nice, nice. Well we're going to be using the living room as a studio. You don't mind do you?"

"Not in the least. I was just going to rest for a little bit, so please try not to be too loud," Kiku politely dismissed himself and went to his room. Alfred didn't comment, knowing when Kiku was implying an 'or else'.

"You need to stop teasing my roommate," Alfred told Francis with a smothered laugh.

"I'm surprised he's so easy to wind up, having to live with you and all," Francis replied around his hand, vainly attempting to hide his own smile while wiggling out of the jacket.

Alfred only hummed his response, readying his camera. Looking back over at Francis, he couldn't help feeling disconcerted. Francis was being an unusually good sport about the picture. He didn't even laugh when everything was first proposed, merely smiling and saying that he trusted Alfred and his vision. Which only made Alfred's gut twist more with guilt, praying that Francis didn't think he was some kind of freak.

Alfred tried to calm himself and think clinically about what they were doing, attempting to pacify his nerves so that he would stop being so temperamental.

"Stand over there for me please?" Alfred asked, voice cracking slightly, "I'm going to try and see if a view point from the ground will work."

Francis happily complied, walking over to his mark and patiently waiting for Alfred to get in position. Pushing aside the awkwardness threatening to overcome him, Alfred laid down and pulled up his camera.

"Alright, you can try out a few poses for me."

Only a few shots later, Alfred was sighing and pulling his camera back down, stomach feeling unsettled somehow. Francis had been camping it up the moment he positioned himself for a good angle, and he was feeling irrationally insulted by it. He pursed and pouted his rouged lips like a monkey, and twirled in the dress like a five-year-old that got into their mother's clothes. Alfred was happy that the man had agreed to such a bizarre request, but his inability to take it seriously was starting to grate on his nerves. Nor was the behavior helping the odd mishmash of emotion rolling over Alfred in strong waves.

"Could you stop?" Alfred snapped, trying to look intimidating while still lying on the floor, desperately ignoring the way the muscles in his abdomen were clenching.

"Stop what?' Francis asked back, his voice a flirtatious giggle.

"Goofing off!" he shouted, now feeling a faint flutter in his chest that was somehow worse than anything he felt before.

Francis' grin flipped down into a frown as Alfred struggled to his feet. He glared up at the Frenchman, the heels he was wearing adding quite a few inches to his height.

"Look, I appreciate you doing this, really," he ignored the derisive snort that came his way after he said that, "I just need you to take this a bit more seriously though. I know this is a really weird, and you're going above and beyond doing this for me, but I don't mean for this to come off as a joke. We'll finish this quickly and then you can go change, okay?"

"Well don't be too eager to slip me out of this thing," Francis responded with a laugh, which quickly stopped when he saw the look he was being given, "Alright, what do you want me to do?"

Alfred had to step back and think for a moment, he was having a hard time concentrating. Worms-eye-view wasn't working, it would just seem like a pervert was trying to get a looky-loo up a drag queen's skirt. Even worse, the more he stared at Francis' made up face, the more he regretted taking his project so far. Francis looked like a weird doll and nowhere near what Alfred had envisioned. He dug his hand into his hair and took a deep breath.

"Could you wash your face for me?" he asked, looking properly sheepish when Francis seemed miffed, mad from having gone through the trouble of painting his face only to be told the effort was for nothing. He stomped over to the kitchen and turned the tap on with unnecessary force. Alfred watched as Francis bent over to wipe at his face, the backless dress providing an open view to his pale expanse of skin. Alfred had to admit that as slight as Francis appeared in his usual dress shirts and suits, he was a very fit man. He didn't build up muscle like Alfred could, but the sinewy ropes of muscle threaded up and down his back indicated an active lifestyle. Then, in an instant, Francis slumped forward in such a way that Alfred knew immediately what he wanted to do.

Grabbing a chair from the table, he placed it in the shaft of light filtering through the window from the setting sun outside. Stepping back, he held his fingers in a rectangular shape to frame his shot and found he liked how it was looking so far. A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth and he looked over to see Francis staring at him.

Fighting down a blush, he cleared his throat and spoke, "Could you sit sideways in the chair? Just face the window and rest an elbow on the back."

Francis silently complied. Once he was fully positioned, Alfred knew he had his picture. The waning light of day lit up Francis' hair like the brightest star. Molten gold highlighted his shoulders and the shadows along his shoulder blades cast his contours into such deep contrast that Alfred could probably pick out his trapezius from his deltoid despite the distance. The dress fanned over the side of the chair, teasingly brushing at his ankles and Alfred wondered if he'd ever seen anything so striking before. The room was still as he took in Francis and his back. He abruptly realized his lack of response must have been strange and fumbled with the camera, almost knocking his glasses off with how hard he drew it up to his eye.

"Th-that's great. Hold it there for me..." he pressed the shutter release more than he intended as his brain and body operated at separate speeds. After the final click, he hung his camera around his neck and walked over to Francis' side. The older man looked up at him inquisitively and Alfred felt his intestines drop into his shoes.

"Are you done?" Francis asked, tilting his head to the side when Alfred didn't respond right away.

"Yeah, I got a lot of great shots. Thank you," he heard himself say, and watched distantly as he extended his hand toward Francis, who took it in bemusement. He wobbled onto the heels and went to take a step back when Alfred held him there. He smiled nervously as Alfred lifted up his camera once more. Alfred quickly took one last picture, more than confident that he caught the wide-eyed surprise on Francis' face.

"I like how your cheeks look scrubbed," he informed the befuddled man with a laugh, mentally willing himself to let go of his hand.

Francis shook his head, "Sometimes I would love to know just what goes on in that head of yours. Is it okay for me to change now?"

"No, you're stuck in that forever," Alfred laughed again, with a higher pitch than he wanted, and waved Francis off to go get back into his regular clothes.

Francis didn't say anything, the soft click of his heels as he made his way to the restroom echoing in the small apartment. The silence left afterwards was crushing, as Alfred shakily took a seat, staring down the hallway in alarm. What the hell was the matter with him? Was he getting sick again? His hands were unsteady and his heart was beating faster than normal. Even the room seemed colder than it should have been.

"Maybe I should take some medicine and nap," he said to himself, reclining his head on the back of the couch and staring beseechingly at the ceiling.

"Are you still alive?" Alfred flinched at Francis' voice, silently wishing that he would stop sneaking up on him.

"Yeah. But I'm tired," Alfred responded, looking up at Francis with eyes lingering on the hands finishing buttoning up his shirt. He tried to smile reassuringly, but it felt like a grimace, so he quickly got to his feet and headed to the door in an attempt to hide his face.

Francis followed, "I left the shoes and clothes on the sink counter. Be sure to give the lovely lady my thanks."

Alfred only nodded, unlocking the door. With a mix of dread and excitement, he turned to say goodbye. There Francis was, standing closer than necessary like he always did, looking at him with concern. Alfred noted that they were fairly equal in height now that Francis was back in his dress shoes. He wasn't sure what he was doing, he felt like he was seeing everything happen from outside his body. Whatever his state of mind, Alfred invaded Francis' personal space right back, their faces drawing closer and closer to each other. Alfred came to a stop with a half-inch distance between them, feeling himself tremble but unable to comprehend why. He could have sworn he heard Francis take in a sharp breath, but there was no being sure. Then, Francis made a move and Alfred's thoughts were nothing but white noise.

"Goodnight Alfred," he let himself out.

Alfred stood in horror, staring at the space on the wall that used to be Francis' lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suppose I should explain this scene. The whole reason I started writing this story is because I saw a drawing of Francis in drag with Alfred taking a picture of him one day on tumblr (Which is odd 'cause I actually don't really ever go on tumblr). For the curious I'll try to find it again and send a link if you ask.


	15. Chapter 15

Now was not the time to panic, Alfred thought. Now was the time to go pack everything up and go to bed. He had a long day tomorrow between work and school and he wasn't sure pulling another all-nighter would be healthy. Yes, that's what he would do.

With that plan in his head, Alfred stared at the wall less intensely. The only thing left to do was to move. Even the slightest millimeter would feel like a mile of progress. Except his feet refused to budge, as did the rest of his body. For one terrifying moment, Alfred thought he was paralyzed, or in some weird coma. Like Kirk and Spock in that one episode where those people were on that fake planet that was really an asteroid. Or was it the one where everyone was turned into sugar cubes?

Slightly falling forward and supporting himself on the wall with his arms out, Alfred scratched noncommittally at the yellowed wallpaper. He must be a mess if he couldn't keep his _Star Trek_ straight anymore.

Mindlessly making his way to the living room, Alfred contemplated his small collection of video games and DVDs, trying to find which episode he didn't remember before he gave up and let his hands hang limp at his sides. Biting harshly at the inside of his cheek, he replayed the last five minutes over again in his head. He tried to kiss Francis.

As masterful at the art of denial as Alfred was, there was no fooling himself into thinking that what he did was anything but an attempt to make-out with his former guardian. He also knew what his little stunt implied as well. He wanted the older man in every sense of the word.

The realization became the worst and best moment of his life.

His stomach boiled and his face felt pale as he mulled over every little detail of what he'd done. How close he had gotten (Close enough to count the pores on Francis' nose). He could even perfectly recall how Francis' cologne suddenly wafted under his nose when Francis had pulled away.

Sighing, he couldn't help but wonder, was this type of longing supposed to feel clammy? Shouldn't he be happy? Or thinking of a way to convince Francis that they should totally date? They'd already come a long way in their relationship in such a short time already. Things had been going so well between them. They could laugh and talk and smile again. It had felt like Alfred went back two years, before he felt used and betrayed, misunderstanding everything between him and Francis.

Except, he was starting to doubt that the problems between them had really been solved. Maybe he had been so enmeshed in a web of desire that he was willing to over look every obstacle between them in order to get what he wanted. Maybe they had been stuck at square one the whole time, and Alfred was seeing progress where there was none. And he was ill-timed as well. Francis wasn't going to be around for much longer, and he wouldn't be surprised if this ran him out of town even sooner.

And _dear God!_ Their ages! The man could probably remember when Alfred had lost his first tooth. Hell, Alfred could remember a time when Francis was cooing at him as he dabbed at his scraped knee with iodine. Francis had told him that little boys need to learn not to be so rough, and how Alfred needed to stay in one piece if he was going to look after Arthur and him when they were old and grey.

Suddenly, no matter how deeply Alfred tried to breathe, his lungs refused to fill up. Everything around him was so chaotic and fast paced, even though he knew he was holding perfectly still. He felt himself begin to float away while at the same time his body crumpled forward on floor, genuflecting towards the hallway.

"Idiot," Alfred spat venomously at himself. He was going to ruin what he had with Francis just like he ruined everything else in his life. With his selfishness.

He slammed his fist on the floor, as if the noise would scare off every inappropriate thought he ever had about the older man while his breathing evened again. His brain had become over loaded, and he was only aware of the dull drone of pipe work and the distant thump of the neighbors upstairs as his whirlwind of emotion subsided. Fully collected, he couldn't even tell how long he had stayed that way. Quite a while he guessed, if the protests of his stiff joints meant anything as he straightened up. Rolling back on his heels, he roughly sat down and leaned against the wall.

He could fix this, he decided, nodding at nothing in particular.

All he had to do was tell Francis he had taken a joke too far. It wouldn't be the first or last time Alfred got carried away. Francis would laugh ( _In relief_ , Alfred thought bitterly) and they would fall back into their usual rhythm of jokes and sincerity.

Yet, he felt even worse at the notion of retreating back to friendship.

Because he wanted what they already had, but more. He wanted mornings where Francis was still with him, not off somewhere else. Just where Alfred could see him. Francis would grumble and roll out of bed after fumbling with the alarm, and Alfred would follow him and help him cook breakfast. Then Francis would set everything down and tip back in his chair to read the paper, all the while gently critiquing Alfred's cooking while still admiring the progress he'd made. Alfred would ask for the sports section, but Francis would hold it hostage until he at least read the front page. They'd part ways for the day afterward. Alfred would go and continue his work as an award winning freelance photographer, and Francis would be busy running his five-star restaurant. At night, they'd meet at home again, and lie down in each other's arms while smiling exhaustedly because they were so sickeningly happy with their demanding lives.

To be able to see every smile or spark of joy that would grace Francis' face for the rest of his life? Alfred wanted that so bad that hope was the only thing he knew how to feel in that moment.

But whatever elation he had felt was quickly smothered by one truth: Francis left. He had to of known what Alfred had tried to do, and he ran out of the apartment as fast as he could manage.

Bringing up his knees, Alfred wrapped his arms around his legs and buried his face in them. He was stuck in a vicious cycle of joy and despair. Every time he dared to dream of being able to woo Francis, he was met with cynicism disguising itself as realism. He started planning how he was going to confront Francis, for every part of him agreed that they were going to have to face each other eventually. He was ruminating over how sending flowers would simply compound his problems when he was alerted to the soft tread of socked feet lightly walking toward him

"Is there a reason why you're pouting in the living room with all the lights off?" Kiku asked, sounding like he was speaking from a million miles up in the air from Alfred's position on the floor.

"I'm meditating?" Alfred responded, voice muffled from his face still being tucked away.

Kiku stood there silently for a moment. Alfred could feel him staring and squirmed uncomfortably in response. Alfred then heard the shift of clothing and the creak of wood from Kiku kneeling before him on the floor. He tried not to retreat further into his little ball of misery when he felt Kiku's arms lightly envelope him in a loose hug, and then embrace him more firmly when Alfred didn't shirk him.

Alfred dared to pop up his head and look at his friend. Kiku was the opposite of physical and affectionate, so to have him suddenly give out a hug was surprising. What he saw was Kiku looking at him with a sad expression, eyes roving over his face with concern.

"You must think I'm so weird," Alfred said self depreciatingly.

"You're not weird. At least not for this," Kiku stated, releasing his hug and sitting on the floor with Alfred.

Alfred bit his lip and contorted his legs into Indian style, "Was I that obvious?"

"No, but I know what to look for," Kiku stated, sitting in that horrendously uncomfortable kneeling position that always made Alfred's legs fall asleep.

"Look for?" Alfred asked distantly, feeling drained.

"To see when someone's in love."

"No one said anything about love," Alfred protested weakly, stomach clenching again.

"No one had to," Kiku said matter-of-factly.

Alfred groaned and hid his face in his hands this time. Just how long had things been this way if Kiku felt the need to comfort him?


	16. Chapter 16

Alfred had just handed the last person in line their coffee when his phone buzzed. He nearly ripped his pocket open with how eagerly he took it out to check and see who had texted him. He managed not to throw said phone across the room when he saw his front screen flash the name "Kiku" at him jeeringly. Grumbling to himself, he opened his inbox only to read:

_Are you doing alright?_

Alfred ground his teeth when he punched in his answer back:

_yep. thanks 4 asking. ill keep you updated n stuff if i hear from him_

He snapped his phone shut again and went back to the cash register, barely controlling the growl growing in his throat. He finally managed to regain some composure, reminding himself that Kiku was only trying to look out for him. He had no idea the new shock Alfred had received that very day.

Three days had passed since he last spoke to Francis. To Alfred, those days felt like months.

Long months.

He tried to remain calm after he spilled his guts to Kiku about everything that had happened while he was taking his nap. He agreed with Kiku to give Francis some space to think for a bit and worry about everything later, when the wounds weren't fresh. Except the moment his head hit the pillow that night he was right back to where he was when he curled up in the living room and had an emotional seizure. He didn't do much sleeping in the end, and he fumbled his way through the next couple days in much the same way. That morning Alfred broke down and finally tried to call Francis' cell. He wasn't really expecting the man to pick up, it was six in the morning after all, but he also wasn't expecting for the automated voice of a woman telling him that the number he dialed was out of service either. As irrational as the thought was, he couldn't help but feel that that woman was delivering Francis' answer to Alfred's feelings. He hadn't even confessed and he was already getting rejected. He suddenly felt nauseous.

"If ya drunk or hungover go the hell home! You're green as a lizard," his boss yelled at him from where he was wiping down a table. When Alfred didn't react, the old man frowned so deeply he resembled a lionfish and planted himself right in front of him.

"Ya sick again?"

Alfred looked up in surprise, having been lost in his own world, "Oh, no sorry. Didn't get enough sleep last night. Well I have an appointment in an hour, I should probably go."

His boss silently watched him grab his backpack from the cupboard he kept it in and exit the shop, shaking his head when Alfred was out of sight.

Alfred barely registered the quick pace he was walking in. The afternoon was starting to warm the air slightly, but the humidity felt heavy in his lungs. The snow refused to melt despite the fairly temperate weather lately, leaving everything wetter than normal and messy. Yes, everything was very messy that moment.

Because Kiku just had to use the 'L' word didn't he? The moment the "feeling-that-must-not-be-named" left his roommate's lips, Alfred's mind came to a grinding halt on Francis and stayed stuck there ever since. Not that it was much of a change from normal, but somehow that word added an unseen anxiety to the situation. Almost as if things were going to go past the point of redemption if he didn't act soon.

With that added pressure weighing on his chest, he hysterically examined the other people crowded around the bus stop for any type of distraction. It didn't take him long before he zeroed in on a man with blonde hair near the same shade as Francis'. The man had it cropped closely to his head, and Alfred caught himself thinking that though he wasn't a fan of long hair, Francis managed to make it work. The man's neck wasn't nearly as aesthetically pleasing as Francis' though, with the Adam's apple barely visible. He dreamily drifted behind the stranger as people moved toward the bus doors, judging the differences between the poor man and Francis. He couldn't compare, but Alfred had to give credit where it was due. He liked the man's posture better, even if it was rigid, and there was a certain appealing masculinity in the way he could see his shoulder blades through the back of his jacket…

"Holy crap, I'm gay," Alfred said aloud, back on Earth again and feeling the full force of its gravity.

"You still have to pay the fare," the bus driver said tonelessly, looking at him dully and waiting for him to get a move on.

Mortified, Alfred stuffed too much change in the till and ducked behind some seats toward the back. What was he expecting? Of course he was gay. Or at least gay for Francis. No, just generally gay. He was giving that man the eye. Then again it could have been artistic interest. Oh to hell with it, he was enamored with Francis, a man. He definitely wasn't straight at this point. How the thought never crossed his mind until then, he'd be willing to blame on romantic troubles. Still, the fact that he pretty much had been ignoring addressing his own sexuality up to the moment he had feelings for someone was worrying.

He tried to indiscreetly act like he didn't notice the boggled looks people gave him on the bus ride to campus. Even if the man he had been previously checking out was looking at him with interest as he quickly exited at his stop. He had never been so happy to be accosted by one of those Greenpeace people before once he was on the school property. A sign that he was almost done with the day and could go home.

After brushing off the inappropriately dressed for winter faux hippie, Alfred made his way to his photography professor's office. He was going to show her the portfolio he had compiled so far, not being able to make it to the check in day due to choosing to make a work shift. He had never been to her office before, but it was essentially what he imagined it being. Fairly sparse on decorations except for an obligatory inspirational poster that seemed to follow every counselor and teacher in existance.

When Alfred uncertainly edged through the door, she looked up from her clunky vanilla colored Dell severely before relaxing into a welcoming smile.

"Alfred, hello! Have a seat," she gestured to the worn wooden chair on the other side of her desk, digging through a drawer for a moment and pulling out a pair of reading glasses.

"Um, I have my work for next week. I'm not going to make the next class so I was hoping if it's okay I turn it in now," he said uncomfortably, digging out a folder from his backpack and handing it over.

"Well, I can't be mad when someone wants to turn in something early," she said, delightedly opening the folder and filing through the photos. She silently perused each one with deceivingly keen eyes, nose twitching every so often and even humming when she passed the photo Alfred did of a bowl reflecting light as if it were filled with water.

"Seems like you've been busy," she commented. Alfred only nodded and looked down at his hands. He threw himself into his photography work immensely the past few days after he came to terms with the fact that sleep wasn't going to happen any time soon.

"Oh! I like this one," his professor suddenly exclaimed.

Alfred knew what picture she was looking at. He didn't want to admit that the picture really was good, even when Gilbert of all people complimented it before he made his way out of the basement apartment yesterday. But there was no avoiding this situation, especially when he went through with keeping the picture after everything. Looking up from his hands, he saw her holding up the photo of Francis, seeming very pleased with it as her eyes roved the shiny surface of the paper in her hand.

"Who's the lucky lady?" she joked, making the picture dance for him.

Alfred thought he might puke, but answered anyway, "You might want to look closer."

She flipped the picture back over with interest, and perused its contents again. The shock on her face was very subtle, but Alfred saw it anyway. She drew a bony hand up to her mouth and covered it for a moment before addressing Alfred again.

"I'm sorry, Alfred, I didn't realize," she smiled tensely, trying not to laugh at herself, "My goodness, I see the beard now. It's obvious this is a man once you mention it. A friend of yours?"

"He was my guardian in high school, but before that he had custody of my brother when we were real little," Alfred adjusted in his seat, looking at the shelves of photo albums steadfastly.

"That would be it then," she said with satisfaction. Alfred went numb and looked at her as if she were an approaching storm, come to sink his tiny rowboat.

"What would be it...then?" he asked, mouth not properly communicating the words he needed.

"There's a lot of love in this photo. You can always see when someone's soul is in a picture. Take two photographers and make them photograph the same exact thing, and one's going to end up being better. You won't know why exactly, but it's going to be because one person felt something more while taking that picture than the other," she ended with a self aware yet sagely nod.

Alfred took up a picture from the 'seen' pile and turned it around in his fingers, not really seeing it but needing something to look at, "Where'd you steal that from?"

His professor giggled, "It's something I've heard chefs say about meals. But I feel like the concept can be applied to pretty much everything."

Alfred swallowed the lump in his throat, "I can't argue with that."

"Didn't think so," her observations of his work went by quickly afterward. She had little critique to make, and seemed very happy with what Alfred had managed so far.

"I look forward to seeing your whole collection if you make the rest like this," she said, waving him off and turning back to her antique of a computer.

Alfred thanked her verbally for her time, and mentally for her surprisingly helpful musings. Leaving campus again, he hopped on the bus that would take him back to the street where the coffee shop was, and the closest stop to the Blue Bird Motel.

Three days was a long enough wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I assume every campus has those people where they walk up to you and you're not sure if they're an art student or homeless. Then, BAM! Clipboard! I go to a school where it's really hard to tell if someone's going to ask you for change, directions, or to sign a petition. D=


	17. Chapter 17

Francis had done the stupidest thing that he had ever done in his life, including that married woman when he was a dumb teenager.

He forgot his journal.

He left his journal in that godforsaken motel room, and he needed to go back and get it. That tiny journal contained his future, and it didn't matter that he had just passed the state border into Illinois, he had to return.

He was terrified driving back into Columbia, the city seeming so much smaller this time due to his intense fear of running into Alfred. Which was an awful fear to have, but he couldn't help the anxiety tensing at his shoulders every time he saw a blondish looking young man walking along the roadside.

What was he thinking, coming back to Missouri? He hated Missouri. It was bad for his skin.

He pressed his forehead hard into the steering wheel when he was stopped at a light, digging his trimmed nails into the rubber and swearing under his breath at his luck. He needed to sort himself out again.

Step one; Alfred tried to kiss him. He could accept that. He was a very kissable person.

Step two; he got the hell out of town as fast as humanly possible. That was fine as well. He was going to leave eventually, so why not sooner than planned?

Step three; he cancelled his phone service. Not that he was afraid Alfred would try to call him or anything. He had come to the sudden realization that it was an unnecessary expense to have.

A car honked behind him and he flinched. Slowly sitting up and starting to drive again, he threw a careless apologetic wave and ignored the matching set of dark rings lining his eyes in the rear view mirror. He had trouble sleeping the past couple nights, and he couldn't fathom the reason for it. Lack of sleep made him look haggard and he wanted to maintain as much of a healthy glow as long as possible before time ravaged him.

He had even given up on his hair, which with the subpar hair care products sold in the States, he figured there was no point in fussing over it anyway. He hadn't even bothered combing it that morning, simply tying it back, and then untying it because that's how he wore it on Thanksgiving and in that awful photo, then tying it again because he looked dreadful.

Where was he? Oh yes-

Step four; he realized he had forgotten his journal and considered just leaving it. Except he really couldn't do that. He had quite a fair amount of ideas outlined, and he couldn't expect to recall them all if he tried to rewrite everything from memory. Not to mention he had the entire forward completed and it was far more than a couple of pages.

Pulling into the first available parking space, he slumped back in his seat after turning off the car and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

Alfred tried to kiss him. That vivid memory wasn't going to go away.

But that wasn't what was scaring him. What was scaring him was that-

"Nope," he said aloud, blanking out any further thought and exiting the car.

He strode into the impossibly tiny office and nodded at the clerk.

"Oh, hey, you came back for your book?" he asked with a smirk, before ducking behind the counter and pulling out the thick and worn journal. Francis quickly took it up, and froze.

It wasn't the journal for his book, but his private one. Staring down at the cover, he tried to understand why he hadn't noticed. He quickly squashed the nagging voice in his head that told him that he had noticed, but he wanted this journal back too. That he'd be even more lost without this one.

He tersely thanked the desk clerk and left quickly. Running a thumb up and down the spine, he looked up at where he parked and almost dropped the thing in a puddle at what he saw. There, standing casually by his car, was Alfred. Francis felt the impulse to dive behind a bush, and was almost about to when their eyes locked.

Gulping loud enough for the entire city to hear, he steadily continued his course. He wasn't used to being flustered like this. When life hit him hard, he could still twist any person around his finger as he pleased. His little talent had spun so out of control that a part of him really did try to surrogate Mathieu with Alfred when he left Arthur. But how it ended up was that Alfred was too 'Alfred-ish' to box in whatever category he could use for his own emotional gratification. The way he would cut through his web of lies with blunt honesty and innocence sent him reeling in ways he'd never dealt with before. He gave up long ago trying to manipulate him, and over time hated himself for having the audacity to even consider it. But had he known that his assurances and hear-to-hearts with Alfred would lead to this mess, maybe he would have avoided laying himself bare all together. Or maybe not, he thought, as his resolve evaporated with the intense heat of those dark blue eyes searing his soul.

What he did know was that he deserved his torment, and he supposed it was once again time to abase himself to Alfred and hope he didn't screw up beyond repair.

"Aren't you sick of running away and being a coward?" was the first thing out of Alfred's mouth.

Well.

If Alfred's goal was to piss him off, he was doing a bang up job, "That's rich coming from you. Who is it that cut their family out of their life?"

"There was no way I could have stayed after everything, you know that."

Francis felt a sense of déjà-vu as he leapt into the greatest obstacle wedging between them and Alfred deflected calmly. So of course he went for a low blow in retaliation, "Did you have to cut your brother out too?" He ignored the guilt and fear that gnawed at his insides. Wasn't he the one that wanted to have this conversation first all those weeks ago? They had avoided this subject for too long…

"Why the hell does everything have to come back to Matt?" Alfred's fists were balled tightly at his sides. Francis wondered how long Alfred had let his resentment simmer.

"You're brother misses you and he isn't in the best of shape."

"He's never in the best of shape. He's always sick. Jesus Christ, you think I'm not aware of how he is? Between him and Mom always falling ill I could have been a god damn doctor. So don't try to moralize with me about how unhealthy Matt is, because I've had to deal with that shit longer than either you or Arthur. I was a selfish prick for bowing out, so sue me. For once in my life I just want to think about what I want, and where I want to go in my life. I didn't let Arthur chain me down because he raised me, I didn't let Matt's situation keep me around just because I felt guilty, and I'm not going to let you manipulate me just because I love you! "

Alfred had been dying to say that for a very long time, Francis could tell by the quick moment of relief that flitted across his face before scowling again. Francis' face, meanwhile, was one of horror.

"You don't love me," Francis stated with as little emotion as possible. Alfred looked like he wanted to rage at the sky.

"You don't get to tell me how I feel," Alfred spat back.

"You can't love me."

"Well I do, get over it," Alfred stepped to the side, steering them both around to where Francis' back was facing the car.

"I've hardly been here a month, how is that enough time for you to fall in love? You're infatuated, or confused."

"I'm not," Alfred insisted, seeming nervous now, "It hasn't just been this month."

Francis could tell this wasn't going to be pleasant to hear.

"It's been years. I just got my head out of my ass about it recently is all- Today, actually. Anyway, I mean, it's weird I've never had anyone before, right? But why would I need anyone else when I had you in my life already? There aren't any familial feelings between us, yet we care about each other as more than friends. We enjoy each other's company and we have so much to talk about and learn from each other even though we don't have the same interests. Even when I'm angry with you, I just want to see you happy. And that's why-" he stopped as if struck by some invisible force.

"And that's why it sucks so bad when I can tell you're thinking about Matt or anyone else. I'm jealous, I've always been jealous," he finished with a lame whisper.

"You look too much like your brother," Francis replied flatly.

"You can't expect me to believe that all the years you've spent with us that the differences aren't glaring."

"Our ages," he said, voice sounding uneven to his own ears.

"What about them? I don't mind the gap, and it's not like I'm trying to fill some weird Freudian hole in my life with a father figure. And if I did, it wouldn't be with you."

"I'm not looking to settle down," Francis wasn't sure who he was trying to convince anymore.

"I'm asking for a relationship, not marriage. Besides, you've already admitted that you're not as much of a philanderer as you'd like people to think."

"We aren't going to work."

Francis was losing.

"I think you've run out of excuses. You keep going on about all these issues, but you're not saying how you feel," Alfred trapped Francis up against the car, face set into his classic look of determination, "So, how do you feel about me? If you can honestly say you don't love me and you'll never love me, I'll let you go."

Francis opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish, looking at Alfred as if he had appeared out of nowhere.

"Oh lord Alfred," he deflated, leaning heavily against the car and hiding his eyes behind a hand. There were still a slew of problems between then, but he felt vanquished. There was also a sense of optimism twisting inside him, which he was beginning to think was contagious if someone hung around Alfred too long.

A hand shyly brushed across his shoulder. Francis didn't mind and remained unresisting to the tight hug he was pulled into.

He shook like the last dead leaf on a tree, mumbling incoherently while Alfred stroked a hand firmly up and down his spine and waited. After going through his own motions of panic, he relaxed into Alfred's arms and rested his chin on his shoulder.

"This is terribly unromantic," he said, frowning off in the distance.

Alfred bit on his tongue before ducking his head toward Francis' neck to smother his laughter, his voice still echoing across the parking lot.

"On whose end?" he asked.

"Both," Francis answered, still looking at nothing, "I shouldn't have run away like that. It was incredibly unfair to you, no matter how I felt… And you're just a brute."

Alfred nuzzled his nose at the junction between Francis' throat and jaw, disturbing the wealth of stubble that had grown in from lack of shaving, "Be nice. I was desperate."

"We both were."

"Should I bring flowers and release doves next time?" Alfred pulled back and set his hands heavily on Francis' shoulders.

"Anything's better than declarations of love in a motel parking lot," Francis shot back, failing at sounding haughty as he brought up his own hands and rested them on Alfred's wrists.

"So high maintenance. Are you surrendering or not?" Alfred asked smugly, leaning toward him.

"Not in the least. The fight's just begun," Francis quipped, leaning forward as well.

"Y'know, I'm not a very good los-" Francis cut him off by harshly meeting their lips. For once he was tired of banter, and from what he could tell Alfred was fine with shutting up.

As for the kiss, Francis had both given and received better. Both their lips were dry from the weather, and Alfred was too enthusiastic for all his inexperience. But Francis decided to let his opportunity for a teaching moment pass by this time, considering they were both too busy smiling to lock lips properly anyway.


	18. Chapter 18

Alfred sat on his bed, staring off into nothingness when his bedroom door opened again. Francis strode through, wearing a towel on his head before depositing it over a chair as the smell of soap wafted in after him. Francis had insisted on getting rid of his 'driving grime,' as he called it, as soon as they finished making up and Alfred figured rechecking himself back into the motel that day would just be odd when he could use his bathroom for free.

"Sorry about that, but I like to look presentable even when I'm not going anywhere," Francis said, rubbing at his newly shaved neck and walking over to sit with Alfred.

Alfred grinned over at him and shrugged, "I actually liked the stubble, but whatever floats your boat." He stretched his arms over his head and laid down, dangling his legs off the edge and kicking them restlessly.

His eyes wandered the ceiling unthinkingly, aware of Francis looking down at him. He reached out an unseeing hand and brushed lightly up and down Francis' nearest forearm. Francis stayed still, allowing Alfred to stroke the border of his arm where hair faded and disappeared underneath by the wrist, watching the young man intently as his eyes glassed over in a day dream.

Alfred hooded his eye lids sleepily, not reacting when his vision was obscured by Francis looming over him. He closed his eyes when they kissed again, reveling in the feel of lips pressing down on his own. He lazily brought up a hand and dug it into Francis' hair, playfully twisting at the strands that were still damp from their previous wash.

His moment of Zen was quickly replaced with slight panic, not knowing what to do when he felt Francis lap at his bottom lip, becoming acutely aware of how much more experienced the older man was. He felt like he was heading into a humiliating situation quickly and squeezed nervously at Francis' scalp when he felt a hand stray underneath his shirt and rest above his hip.

Francis soothingly rubbed his thumb in circles along the soft skin of his stomach, teasingly brushing at the dip of his belly button and causing Alfred to stutter out a long exhale. Forcing himself to relax after his initial surprise, he parted his lips for Francis who ran his tongue across the roof of his mouth before quickly withdrawing. Alfred tried to follow after, not even caring that Francis was smirking at him falling for his little trick.

Alfred tried to give back as good as he got, prying his own tongue past rows of slick teeth and being unexpectedly met with Francis' tongue again. At a loss for how to go on, he uselessly wiggled the appendage around before pulling back completely and wiping a shameful amount of slobber from his chin that came with. He didn't look up when Francis laughed gently, too lost in his crushed hopes of being a natural.

"It's not funny," Alfred said, pushing at Francis' chest grumpily when he just laughed harder.

"It's-you're just so cute," Francis sputtered, holding his stomach as he tried to calm himself. Alfred looked at him unamused and waited for him to finish.

Still giggling, Francis laid down half on top of Alfred and wrapped an arm around his waist while teasingly poking his side for being so sour.

"We'll just have to practice a lot, yes?" he whispered into Alfred's ear before nipping at the lobe.

Alfred gasped, gripping at Francis' shoulders reflexively as the older man moved from his ear to his neck. He sucked and kissed a trail down his throat, following the path of his left carotid artery and crossing over and biting gently at his Adam's apple. Alfred's breath went ragged and his whole body grew warm, he looked listlessly down at Francis' head as a spot near his clavicle was favored and a hand reached under his shirt again. He still felt nervous but in a good way, growing brave and pulling Francis' dress shirt from his belted slacks and running his hands up his back.

He was tracing idle patterns along Francis' spine, while the older man was for sure working on a hickey, when a dull thud sounded from off in the distance. Alfred dismissed the noise, biting his lip in anticipation when he felt Francis' hand move unapologetically up to his chest when a few more muffled bangs sounded louder and closer. Growing irritated, he combed a hand through his hair when Francis did something that he wasn't sure was physically possible with his mouth and he was distracted again.

Then the distant thuds came again, slicing through his lust filled haze and Alfred had a brief moment of self awareness where he whispered, "Kiku..."

"I beg your pardon?" Francis asked, sounding both put out and slightly pissed as he pulled away from Alfred's neck.

"Oh, crap! Kiku!" Alfred exclaimed, practically throwing Francis off of him as the sounds from the front of the apartment became more audible. Francis hissed out some angry French after almost rolling off the bed and clumsily trying to right himself.

"Shit, sorry," Alfred said, fixing his shirt and pulling on a shoe before realizing it was unnecessary.

Francis looked like he was about to complain about being tossed when a loud bang interrupted him and they both exchanged looks of worry.

"Do you have a bat? I think it's a robber," Francis said, quietly tip toeing up to the door and pressing his ear against it.

"No! I'm not going to beat anyone with anything, and why would I own something like that? Anyway, I'm telling you it's Kiku," Alfred said, sidling up behind him and craning his neck to hear better as well. There was silence in the apartment, then a lighter bang followed by a high pitched squeak.

"Yup, Kiku," Alfred said triumphantly, dodging around Francis and pulling open the door.

He rounded the corner of the hallway, only see Kiku doubled over near the front entrance with a pained look on his face.

"Wow, man, you okay?" Alfred asked, walking over and looking down to see one long cardboard box lying on the floor.

"I dropped it on my foot," Kiku breathed out, eyes watering as he tried to keep his whimpering inside. Alfred took him by the arm and guided him over to the couch, ducking in the kitchen and coming back with a pack of frozen peas for his foot.

Kiku took the bag and frowned at it, "That's not what I bought these for."

"Like we'll ever eat them. Besides, we don't have icepacks," Alfred responded.

Kiku just shrugged, taking off his shoe and placing the pack over his socked toes with reluctance before speaking again, "I take it you didn't get my texts then?"

Confused, Alfred pulled out his phone and saw the bottom of the screen indicating one missed call and two texts waiting for him. He opened up his inbox only to read:

_I know you get off work early today, any chance you can help me get my new shelves up the stairs? They're really heavy._

Then the next almost an hour later:

_Are you okay?_

"Crap, dude, I'm sorry. I've been kind of distracted," Alfred said, covertly deleting the messages.

"It's fine," Kiku craned his neck up at him, his eyes blinking owlishly in surprise as his gaze landed on a place a little behind his shoulder. Alfred turned at the weird expression on Kiku's face and saw Francis standing there, for once looking like he was feeling out of place.

"Me and Francis ran into each other again, and we worked things out," Alfred answered the question Kiku hadn't asked, pulling at his ear lobe when he was at a loss as to what to do with his hands.

"I see that," Kiku stated blandly, pointedly looking at Alfred's neck where a soft red patch was left on his skin. Alfred slapped his hand over it, feeling like a kid caught breaking into the cookie jar.

"So you're going to be staying with us?" Kiku asked Francis, not seeming very angry about anything as far as Alfred could tell.

"No," both Alfred and Francis said in unison. They looked at one another in surprise before turning back to Kiku simultaneously. Kiku shook his head. Obviously neither one had thought that far ahead.

Alfred scratched behind his ear nervously, "Well, he'll probably stay the night here. Just tonight though. And we're not going to-well we won't... There's a couch."

"You're going to make a guest sleep on the couch?" Kiku said, blanching at the thought of how rude that would be.

"I mean, I'll sleep on it," Alfred quickly stated, looking between Kiku and Francis for some kind of clue how to explain himself.

Francis ended up being the one to take mercy on Alfred, "What he means is that I've found myself a bit out of luck for where to sleep tonight. I apologize for the short notice, but maybe we can make it up to you?"

Kiku looked coolly over at Francis, while Alfred tried to sneakily give him an 'okay' sign over his head. Still mad at Alfred for almost knocking him off the bed, he chose to ignore the gesture.

"Help me put in the shelves," Kiku finally said, leaving no room for argument about how Alfred and Francis would go about 'making it up' to him.

"I'm not quite sure I'm qualified-"

"No problem!" Alfred cut in, picking up the boxed shelves with ease, causing Francis to gape at him in horror. He followed after the young man as he entered Kiku's room and started unpacking everything. Before long they were both huddled on the floor, screws and planks of wood scattered around them like a warzone.

Kiku would periodically limp in the room to help before quickly getting chased out by shouts of being told to rest, along with being driven away by the fact that seeing the two blondes try to puzzle out assembly instructions was more stressful than defusing a bomb. But as soon as he got comfortable on the couch again with his bag of peas, a sense of guilty laziness would settle in and he was shuffling back into his bedroom to check on them.

In one of the short periods of being left alone, Francis unfolded more of the instructions page, keeping track of Alfred in his peripherals as he mulled over how he should state what he wanted to say.

"I sincerely don't think your roommate cares if we sleep in the same bed. It's not like we haven't done it before," he finally said, still looking at an indecipherable diagram of how the shelves should turn out.

Alfred nodded meekly, "I know. But everything's different now. Not that that's bad or anything."

Francis looked him up and down sadly for a moment before offering, "I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"You don't," Alfred insisted, twisting the hammer he was holding back and forth in favor of having to look Francis in the eye, "I just panicked. I mean, we only just got together today and after Kiku saw my throat I didn't know what I wanted him to think."

"You really haven't been in a relationship before have you?" Francis asked seriously.

"No," Alfred half whispered, keeping his eyes downward. Francis reached out an arm and hooked it around Alfred's shoulder, pulling him into a sidelong hug.

He pressed his lips to Alfred's forehead, speaking into his hairline, "I won't rush you."

"Well don't let me stagnate either," Alfred responded, scooting himself a little closer.

Francis chuckled, bending down and stealing a quick kiss, "You'll be unable to resist me before long."

"You sound like a cartoon villain," came Kiku's voice, walking back into his room. Both Francis and Alfred yelped in surprise, dropping whatever they were holding. Kiku watched them scramble to clean up, muttering 'idiots' under his breath and resigning himself to a long and awkward night.


	19. Chapter 19

Alfred sat up, scratching the back of his head and smacking his lips as he fully came into wakefulness. He looked around the motel room Francis had checked into the day after he spent the night at Alfred's, and frowned at the severe lack of Frenchman in it. Old habits die hard after all he supposed, debating whether to get up or go back into his cozy cocoon. Regretfully, laziness eventually lost out to all the responsibilities he had that day. The springs of the mattress creaked underneath with his shifting weight and Francis' blonde head suddenly popped out of the bathroom at the noise.

"I was beginning to think I should call a doctor."

Alfred grunted and rolled off the bed, looking at the clock and then grunting again once he saw the time.

"Well, so much for swinging by the apartment and changing," he said, looking down at his badly wrinkled shirt and jeans.

"I told you, you should have packed an overnight bag," Francis called, disappearing back behind the door frame.

"I wasn't expecting to spend the night." Alfred flattened himself against the floor, flailing his arm under the bed in search of his left sneaker.

"That's what you said the last ten times." Francis rounded the door into the bedroom, taking a moment to admire the wiggling Alfred was doing as he inched along the carpet.

"Yeah, well..." Alfred lost the comeback he had planned, giving up with his search.

"On the chair," Francis told him as he gestured with an open palm. Alfred looked over at the obligatory motel chair to see his shoe resting peacefully on the stiff pleather.

"Sweet, thanks." Alfred flashed him a toothy grin, getting up and retrieving it. "Wonder how it got there?"

"I threw it at the wall when the neighbors wouldn't stop making noise. I had finally nodded off when they started arguing about someone's dead beat father." Francis glared at the offending wall, the creamy off white impassive under his wilting stare.

"At least it wasn't me this time," Alfred said, tightening his laces.

"You're not much better," Francis snapped, turning his frown on him.

"If you'd just hold still and let me cuddle I won't be a problem," he snickered, Francis remaining unamused.

"You cling like a cat and somehow manage to make me overheat in the dead of winter," Francis shot back tartly.

"Sorry, I'll work on that," Alfred laughed softly, heaving himself to his feet and walking over to him with a smirk.

Francis resolutely planted his hands on his hips, the glower in his eyes losing its edge as a smile ghosted across his face.

"Every time you promise me you'll change, you don't and I end up growing another grey hair."

"Think of it as a free highlight?" Alfred hooked a finger in Francis' belt loop and tugged a little, Francis stood resolute. Seeing that he was going to remain stubborn, Alfred moved closer and mustered up his best pathetic puppy look.

"Let me make it up to you?" Alfred asked, noting that Francis was having a harder time fighting back a smile. He made a show of 'humming' and 'hawing' over Alfred's offer, rolling his eyes thoughtfully to the ceiling as he hung his arms around Alfred's neck.  
"Well?" Alfred moved his hands around to the small of Francis' back.

"You need to tell me exactly how you plan on doing that before I commit to anything," he answered lowly, leaning in so that their noses brushed up against each other.

"I was thinking of going out tomorrow and treating you," Alfred breathed, closing the final few centimeters and parting his lips minutely to soften the impact of their meeting mouths.

"What's the occasion?" Francis asked when they parted briefly before diving back in again.

"My semester's officially over at twelve," Alfred muttered against his lips.

"Hmmm," Francis responded, grabbing the back of Alfred's neck to deepen his involvement before stepping back.

"I'm taking that as a yes," Alfred informed him, picking up his coat from the table and putting it on.

"I'll call you before I come get you. And I get to pick where we go too." Francis took his own turn sitting on the bed. "You've gotten better by the way."

"At kissing? Kinda hard to not improve if I'm trying to keep up with you." Alfred felt his face heat up at Francis' compliment, he could tell their conversation was about to stray into dangerous territory.

"You don't have to push yourself for me, Alfred," Francis informed him bluntly. Alfred just stared intensely at his backpack as he looped a strap around one shoulder. Yep, here they go.

"I will, if you really wanted to," he offered in a whisper, half turning to face Francis.

"Listen, Alfred. As much as I would like to- how do the American kids say it…giddy up it?"

"That's not what they say at all…" Alfred's whole face was a beet red as he made his way toward the door, not sure if he could handle this conversation face to face at that moment. It didn't help that every time they had gotten swept up in the moment Alfred would chicken out and come up with the craziest excuses to suddenly stop. He suspected Francis had figured him out the time he insisted he saw the face of a tiny alien staring at them through the window.

"Either way, you're obviously not entirely ready. Not to mention a motel room is so unromantic I could never go back to France due to shame. And letting you do something because you think I'm getting impatient-"

"I get it!" Alfred threw his hands up, trying to cut off whatever weird rant Francis was about to embark on, walking towards the door and opening it with the older man standing up from the bed and trailing after him.

Once past the threshold, Alfred turned around, Francis leaning on the frame and looking at him expectantly.

"So what're you trying to say?" Alfred asked, shoving his hands in his pockets and shyly kicking at the ground.

"Everything's not going to just randomly fall apart now. We agreed that I'm only going to push you when you need it, and you definitely don't need it right now." Alfred nodded, eyes diverted downward during Francis' spiel.

"Anything else?" he asked, daring to glance up again.

"Call me when you're done," Francis chirped, stealing a peck on the lips and then closing the door on his face before he had time to respond. Alfred just shook his head at the weathered wood and headed to the bus stop. The ride seemed to go slower than usual, allowing him time to think over their conversation.

Still moping over turning out to be a cock tease by the time he got to campus, he wasn't paying much attention to his surroundings. When he reached the second floor of the main building, he looked up in time to witness his professor rolling out of her office in her rolly chair after having pushed off of her desk to get the distance she needed.

"There you are! You have the rest of your photos and an envelope all stamped and addressed for me?" Alfred held up the requested contents, his professor nodding and walking her chair back into the office without bothering to get up from her sitting position.

Once inside, Alfred handed everything over, his professor immediately getting out the remainder of his photos for the class project and thumbing through each one. She reached the end of the pile with a decisive nod, looking up at Alfred over her pair of tiny reading glasses and smiling.

"You can breathe easy again, it's all over," his professor's giggled, sounding young as she took the folder and the envelope with his address from his hands.

Alfred nodded, opening and closing his mouth a few times before he finally spoke, "Thank you, for putting up with me this semester. I made your job harder than it had to be."

His professor blinked up at him in bemused silence for a long moment, before bursting out into a small laughing fit.

"You're a good kid, Alfred. Being a photographer isn't easy these days when you have a true artist's perspective. Except you don't have the prima donna attitude-well, actually I don't know. Anyway, I'll stand by my first impression of you. You have an eye and it's going to take you places."

Alfred was beginning to think his face would never go back to a normal color as he blushed all the way to his hairline again.

His professor just furrowed her brow in sympathy, "I'm being sincere. I've never known a student to make me do a double take at a picture without the help of a computer enhancement before. I look forward to seeing you in a more advanced class. I also have a friend who works for an advertising company that's looking to hire. He's the guy who supplies them with endless amounts of creepy happy families for stock pictures all those websites use. I know it's not your style, but the experience would be good for you if you're interested."

Alfred was pretty sure he had told her 'thank you' a thousand times and 'have a good day' half as much as he dreamily wrote down the man's contact information and floated back out of the building, but there was no way to be sure. What he did know was that, walking through campus with a thumb poised over his phone to call Francis, he had a lot to be grateful for lately.


	20. Chapter 20

Alfred hadn't been pining impatiently in the living room for his phone to ring or anything. He had actually been trying to work out a stain from the carpet he may or may not have made with a carelessly held mug of coffee, and Kiku might just murder him for it considering his unending apprehension about their security deposit. Still, the moment his cell phone started to buzz loudly on the table top, he dropped the sponge and dove toward it eagerly. His mood swung downward when he didn't recognize the number, but he answered anyway.

"Alfred speaking," he answered tonelessly, not bothering to cover up his disappointment. He wasn't very patient, and Francis had been taking forever to call him.

_"Hey, I'm going to head over in a minute."_ The voice of the very man he was thinking of said, making Alfred's heart sore with relief.

"Are you calling from the motel phone again?" he asked, trying to hold in a laugh as he heard the older man mutter and curse quietly as a shuffling sound was made.

_"Let us just say reinstating my phone service is going so well I may just have to drop my carrier all together."_

"Not feeling too sorry for you considering...Hello?" Alfred looked down at his cell phone to see the call time blinking at him, indicating Francis had hung up on him. Allowing himself a light chuckle, he tucked his phone away into his pocket and sprawled out on the couch while he waited. He pulled out his wallet and ran through the sorry amount of cash in it and repeating mental reassurances that his checking account had a substantial amount of money. He was caught between wanting to treat Francis to a good meal along with doing all sorts of romantic crap that the Frenchman had a not so secret soft spot for, and praying that he took them somewhere cheap so he wouldn't have to cry himself to sleep over being poor that night.

He was just starting to get antsy, tapping his foot rapidly against the couch arm, when his phone started to buzz again. Taking it out, he saw an unknown number scrolling across his screen again.

Alfred figured it was Francis calling from the motel phone to tell him he was running late, and he picked it up just as there was a knock at the door. Confused, he got up and walked to the front of the apartment while drawing his phone to his ear to take the call.

"Hello?" He answered with a secretive grin, opening the door for what he assumed must be Kiku.

_"Alfred?"_

His ears rang and his body went cold, the front door swinging open to reveal Francis on the other side with his hands up to his mouth as he tried to breathe some warmth into them against the cold winter air. His brain screamed at him to hang up and go about the rest of the day like nothing had happened. To go and enjoy the date he promised his boyfriend (Because they were boyfriends now, despite any remaining reservations either of them may have). But his body refused to move, his ears perking up at the faint buzz of voices on the other end of the line while the person on the phone took a slight breath as if he was tired of waiting for a reply.

"Alfred?" Francis said, looking up at him with concern as he stood frozen in the doorway.

_"Alfred, I know you're there."_

"What do you want?" He meant to sound intimidating, but ended up pleading. Francis furrowed his brow, looking from the cell phone to Alfred's stricken face and back.

_"Francis seems to have dropped his number and unsurprisingly none of his usual contacts know how to get a hold of him, so I didn't know what else to do-"_

"You want to speak to Francis?" Alfred cut in quickly, seizing his opportunity.

_"Well, yes, but his number-"_

"Here you go," Alfred shoved his phone at Francis, who took it reflexively.

"Arthur," he said, perplexed before brightening up with a smirk, "Que me vaut cet honneur?"

_"You know I hate it when you speak to me in French, you prat! Besides, this is serious."_ Alfred could hear Arthur's reply from where he stood.

His voice immediately quieted down after that. Francis gave Alfred a stressed look of apology before walking a few doors down to speak with Arthur more privately.

Alfred heard the occasional raising of a voice a midst the low murmurs of what he guessed must have been an argument. Before long, Francis had hung up, looking displeased and turning back to Alfred dolefully. Before anything could be said, Alfred walked into the apartment, leaving the door ajar for Francis to follow. He flopped heavily back on the couch, staring ahead with a vexed frown. Francis sat down next to him, looking at him fixedly in wait.

"So, any ideas how Arthur got my number?" he eventually asked, fully aware of how passive aggressive he was being.

Francis' posture slumped visibly. "Alfred-"

"Why did you give him my number?" He couldn't contain the burst of emotion that ripped through him, looking at Francis and feeling hurt.

Francis continued staring for a moment, waiting to see if he was going to be interrupted again before answering, "He called a little before Thanksgiving and asked for it once I told him where I was. I know it doesn't seem like it, but he does still care. In his own way."

Alfred's face darkened considerably and Francis offered desperately, "Don't you want to know why he called?"

What Alfred wanted was to say no, but he continued glaring at Francis instead.

"Your brother," Francis began, waiting for a reaction and growing worried when he didn't get one, "He's in the hospital."

"Not the first time it's happened," Alfred retorted, expression deepening further with waning patience. Some of his earliest memories were of him sitting out in a sterile, brightly lit lobby area, maybe holding his mother's or Matt's hand, but mostly all alone while he waited. He used to watch the people go to and from, making up stories for them and where they went after they were out of sight.

"Well, no, of course not." Matthew in the hospital wasn't exceptionally new to Francis or Arthur either. There were far too many instances of a fainting fit or seizure that caused a frantic rush to the emergency room before being sent home with the equivalent of a shrug. Once pills had been prescribed for epilepsy before it was decided that that wasn't the problem and they were back in the pattern a few months later for another collapse of some sort.

"He has to undergo surgery."

Alfred's face went slack. That was new.

"What're you going to do?" Alfred asked meekly, trying not to think about what must have happened.

"What am I going to do?" Francis echoed back faintly, looking at Alfred as if he were disappointed.

"You can't expect me to believe you'd stay here when Matt's laid up in a hospital somewhere…"

"New York," Francis informed him despondently.

"New Yo-Whoa, wait. What?"

Francis shifted guiltily, rocking where he sat and leaning away from Alfred.

"Why is Matt in New York?"

"He's home from school between the semesters, I believe."

"When the hell did Arthur and Matt move to New York?" Alfred clarified sharply.

"The firm ended up merging with another, and they moved out there a little bit after you came to live with me."

_"When?"_

"About a year after you moved in."

"Well," he said, barely fighting down a hysterical laugh, "That explains why you went back there after-"

"You left, Alfred. And you haven't looked back since," Francis interrupted as kindly as he could.

"The doctor said he was getting better." Alfred tried again.

"That must have been five years ago at the least."

Alfred genuinely wanted to be mad. He wanted to be so livid that he shouted and screamed, flailing his arms and stamping his feet. Just yelling like a primate until he felt better about himself somehow. Except, Francis had a point. Francis had a damn good point. He couldn't be pissed at him for not saying anything about Arthur and Matt moving, or giving Arthur his phone number. He couldn't be upset at Matt's sudden lapse because his health had always been the worst roller coaster ride of emotion, and the news was probably just as startling to Francis. With every fantasy about wanting to lash out and blame someone, the same culprit popped up over and over again. This situation was his burden alone, and trying to blame Francis or anyone else was neither just or fair.

"Will you come with me?" Francis asked tenuously, slowly reaching out and setting a hand on top of Alfred's, fingers curling around his and resting peacefully on top of the worn fabric of the couch.

Alfred looked down at their hands, heart aching and fluttering at once.

"When do you plan on leaving?"

"Tomorrow, if possible."

Oh dear God that was soon. He had no time to think. But it seemed that there was no time for them, period.

"I'm not going to be a fun traveling partner. I'll have to tell my boss and Kiku too." Alfred was getting woozy from the combination of irritation, apprehension, and depression flooding his chest.

"I'll let you settle things first, of course. And you won't be alone, I'll be there... Everything's going to be fine, Alfred."

Alfred wished he could believe him. Everything's not going to just randomly fall apart indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much to the lovely Croc'Sushi for helping me with my pitiful French! Hopefully I got the context right.
> 
> Also, to cover my bases a little bit: though brief, the view presented of medical treatment is seen through Alfred's very biased view point and doesn't reflect how I think. (Mostly because I'm healthy as a horse and the last time I was a hospital patient was the day I was born, so I ended up using some of my mother's experiences from way back in the 60s. Basically, I'm blowing smoke out of my ass for the sake of drama). Not to mention some medical problems are just insanely hard to diagnose.


	21. Chapter 21

"Here are the checks for this and next month's rent," Alfred said, handing over two small slips of paper. Kiku took hold of them and they were swiftly deposited somewhere inside the lining of his jacket. Alfred never bothered asking about that peculiar habit, not sure if he wanted the full story after he moved Kiku's coat once only to have a pocket knife fall out.

"You really think you're going to be gone the entire break?" Kiku asked dubiously, watching Francis edge in and out of view from behind the open car trunk as he struggled with arranging everything inside. The Frenchman was surprisingly persnickety when it came to his belongings.

"Honestly, I don't know. Actually I'm thinking I'll be heading back here one way or another right when we get there," Alfred muttered darkly, imagining various scenarios of how the whole thing could play out. None of them went smoothly.

"Well, you know how to get a hold of me if you need anything."

"Thanks man, I appreciate it," Alfred sighed, clapping Kiku awkwardly on the shoulder and heading to the car.

He watched Francis readjust his bag and then close the trunk with a definitive bang. The older man leaned against the car and turned to Alfred with a sigh, visibly looking him up and down. Alfred had some trouble reading his expression behind the pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses he had donned earlier. Despite the skies being somewhat over cast, Francis had insisted that his eyes were very sensitive. Alfred concluded that he was trying to impress him in his own weird way, considering he went through a phase of being obsessed with all things airplane in high school. The part of him that was still in that phase abashedly found the look very attractive.

"Are you sure that's all you want to bring?" Francis asked with a crooked grin.

"That's all there is to bring." Alfred shrugged, eyeing the dark grey wall of clouds bubbling along the western horizon.

"Your boss didn't fire you did he? He sounded mad from what I could hear." Francis made his way over to the driver's seat and waved at Kiku, who had moved to the top of the stairs, before unlocking the car door.

"That's how he always sounds," Alfred said, smiling to himself, "He understood the emergency. Said my job was waiting for me when I came back, if I still wanted it. What you probably heard was him complaining about the cold weather and his joints."

Francis simply nodded, unsure of how he felt about Alfred's boss from all the stories he had been told sporadically over the past few weeks.

They both entered the car, struggling to get comfortable and their seatbelts on before the engine growled to life. Alfred sat passively as they turned onto the main road, and stayed stoic right until they got onto the interstate. Then it fully sunk in what he was about to do, and suddenly New York wasn't as far away as he wanted it to be.

"You said you live in Rochester?" he eventually asked, after they passed the last exit that was still within Columbia city limits. Francis hummed his affirmation.

"Matt and Arthur live there too?" he asked again, voice squeaky and almost drowned out by the roar of the highway.

"Yes. But they live in the suburbs, I live more within the city." Francis glanced over at him, and Alfred wished he could see his eyes behind the opaque lenses.

"Um… Nice there?" Alfred didn't know where to start. He had only ever lived in Kansas and Missouri, and anywhere else was a daydream he couldn't fully comprehend.

"Hm? Oh, yes, I like it. I originally wanted to move to Syracuse-"

"But everyone lives in Rochester," Alfred finished for him, watching the flat landscape fly by in a dull grayscale of smudges.

"Not everyone," Francis corrected lightly, craning his neck around so that he could go over a lane.

Alfred blushed, leaning on his arms and trying to hide his face away in case Francis looked over. He wanted to say something along the lines of, 'Everyone important.' Except, he knew Francis would rebut him, and it would only spark tension that he did not need.

Alfred was starting to become stiff and tired when Francis spoke again, "I hope you don't mind, but we'll be staying at my apartment."

"Is your roommate okay with that?" Alfred asked, vaguely recalling Francis mentioning something of the like a while back.

Francis sighed fondly, which caused Alfred to look over at him curiously.

"Ah yes, she's a real gem, that girl. Smart, pretty, patient. I wonder at how she puts up with an old man like me sometimes. Really the only reason we're living together is because she's finishing her doctorate, and I'm sure you're well aware of how expensive school is without having to worry about rent on top of it…"

Alfred listened to Francis ramble on, extolling the virtues of this mysterious roommate of his. What little information he gleamed off of the grandiose monologue was that she was about five years older than Alfred and her name was Maelys.

Other than that, he was having the same spell of irritation he felt when the cashier at the grocery store had flirted with Francis before the holidays. He thought darkly to himself that if Francis felt like such a geezer around someone who was much closer to his age than he was, he could only imagine how Francis felt when it was just them together. Or even worse, what he thought other people would think of them together. Not even just strangers. How the hell was he going to tell Arthur and Matt that he was dating Francis of all people? Assuming Arthur would even be willing to talk to him, or let him speak with his brother.

He slouched heavily, resting his chin on his palm and glaring at each tree that dared to whip by his line of vision. Soon the sky had grown dark, and Francis was smothering a yawn before turning toward an off ramp. They had pulled into the parking lot of a hotel that lined the interstate when Alfred had finally hyped himself up enough to try and broach the topic that had been bugging him for what felt like the whole ride.

"Hey Francis?"

Francis looked over at Alfred with a deep frown, expression fully visible after he hung the sunglasses in his shirt collar when sun had started setting. "I know you aren't going to tell me that you think this was a bad idea, Alfred."

Alfred gulped, sitting up in the passenger seat properly. He supposed he wore his heart on his sleeve if Francis could get to the point of the matter so quickly. Unless he had been anticipating this reaction all along…

"You need to stop being so scared. This was going to happen eventually. Besides, think about Matt."

"He's not the only one that's going to be there," Alfred snapped, crossing his arms and diverting his gaze out the window.

He heard Francis growl low in the back of his throat and watched in the window's reflection as he put a hand on the top of Alfred's seat while leaning in. Alfred turned and faced him in challenge, face set grimly as he mentally prepped himself to not back down.

Except the moment they both faced each other, Alfred had whipped around too fast and Francis was too close. Their mouths butted harshly, and they both slapped their hands over them and exclaimed from the pain.

"Just… Just get whatever you think we'll need from the trunk, I'll go get us a room," Francis said haughtily, tossing Alfred the keys and exiting the car without looking back.

Alfred buried his face in his hands for a minute, taking a few deep breaths to calm down before getting out and opening the trunk. He grabbed the bag he assumed had all of Francis' clothes, and slung the lone duffle bag he brought over his shoulder and waited for Francis to come back out of the lobby.

Thankfully he didn't have to wait long, the cold winter air starting to seep into his bones just as Francis reappeared. He nodded his head for Alfred to follow, which he did in repentant silence.

They reached the room in short order, it only being on the first floor at the end of the hall. The stale smell of cigarette smoke penetrated the damp scent of mothballs wafting from the worn carpet, and Alfred couldn't walk in a straight line from looking at the mesmerizing pattern checkered across the floor. As soon as the light in the room was turned on, Alfred snapped his head up and saw that there was only one bed waiting for them. Well, if Francis was still willing to sleep with him, he supposed he wasn't too mad.

They set everything down, and changed in silence, Alfred glancing over every other second to try and decode the concentrated look Francis was wearing when he went to set the alarm, or the blank expression he had heading to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Soon they were both settling in the bed, Alfred hesitating over which way he should lay down as Francis turned off the light. A weak orange glow filled the room, a lit up sign along the road positioned perfectly to shine through the lone window in the wall. Alfred wondered how he was ever going to get to sleep, deciding to turn over to Francis' side instead.

"Oh hell," he exclaimed, surprised at seeing Francis facing him when he had rolled over. He could clearly make out his face in the dim light, able to see that he was very much awake as well.

"Sorry," Francis said softly, propping himself up on his side. He looked down at Alfred, who was collecting himself, and sighed after the young man was fully composed. "How's your mouth?"

Alfred looked up at him, battling over the right way to respond. Seeing this as a chance to make up for earlier, he went in for a joke, "I'd say kiss it better, but that seems to have been the problem in the first place."

Francis glared at him for what felt like an eternity. Then, ever so slightly, his features softened and a smile was creeping across his face.

"You have a talent for what they call corniness."

"I learned from the best," Alfred goaded, smiling over at Francis apologetically and then frowning as he took a deep preparatory breath. "I'm scared of talking to Arthur." He rushed the sentence, but was surprised at how calmly he could admit to his worry.

"I know," Francis answered patiently.

"I shouldn't have gotten so defensive," Alfred went on, moving closer to Francis on the bed.

"To be fair, I shouldn't have gotten so angry with you," Francis said, reaching out and brushing stray hair away from Alfred's face.

"We're both kinda dicks when we're tired, aren't we?" Alfred laughed, tugging on Francis' arm to lay down.

"Well, we aren't our best. It was a long day to spend in a car," Francis said, submitting to Alfred's pulling and positioning his head on the pillow's edge closest to him.

"Tomorrow's going to be a long day too, and so will the one after it," Alfred said, playing with the t-shirt he had leant Francis after he found out the Frenchman hadn't packed any sort of pajamas beyond underwear and undershirts.

"It's not like you to sound so defeated," Francis commented, eyelids drooping and features going slack as he started to drift off.

"Good night, Francis." Was Alfred's response as Francis' eyes finally closed, a soft exhale his only answer.

Alfred stayed awake most of the night, alternating between fiddling with Francis' hair or his shirt as he rehearsed how he was going to deal with his family when the time came.


	22. Chapter 22

"Well, here we are. What do you think?"

"It's definitely a building," Alfred grumbled, looking up at the bricked apartment block in exhaustion.

Three floors of darkened windows gaped out at the black night, the stars blotted out by the city lights shining off in the distance. The tops of a few buildings at the heart of the city could be seen over the barren branches of the tree tops, but little else was visible from their vantage point. Alfred had the urge to get out his camera, but he was tired enough to let the opportunity for a good photo pass him up in favor of getting a decent night's rest. They had started their trip quite early that morning and they had driven the rest of the way with only two stops in between for gas and meals. At one point they had both agreed to skip out on dinner all together, just wanting the trip to finally end and only their dogged determination pushing them through the icy road conditions on the final stretch. He had perked up a bit when they crossed the river cutting through the city. The water looked like ink streaked in bright brushes of orange and yellow that emanated from lit up buildings, providing a lively backdrop as they zoomed by. When they had finally arrived at Francis' place, there was strange silence that contrasted with the earlier scene of urban life, the bitter cold amplifying the void of sound.

"What about your car?" He asked, looking back at the vehicle pulled up along the curb at a fair distance from the building. Just barely on the right side of the 'No Parking' sign.

"Eeeehhh… It'll be fine. I'll return it tomorrow, and everything's out of the trunk," Francis shrugged. Alfred figured he was too tired to give much of a damn at that point.

He followed Francis inside and up the set of stairs directly before them, Alfred never wanting to see a bed more in his life. Francis took him to a door at the end of the hall, opening it and going inside without bothering to turn on the lights. Alfred's eyes took a while to adjust, Francis' hair a ghostly white bouncing in the dark his only guide. With as little noise as possible, they went to the end of yet another hall and stumbled through into what Alfred assumed to be Francis' room. He still couldn't see much, not that he cared to, the only important thing being the shadowy form of a bed.

They both dropped their bags by the respective sides they had silently claimed for themselves, Francis sitting down briefly and methodically undressing on what seemed to be auto pilot at that point. Alfred sluggishly kicked off his shoes and jeans, peeling down the covers and cozying in immediately, Francis following suit just after.

The moment he closed his eyes he felt like he was opening them again. Bright light clouded his vision as he tried to sit up and orient himself. He looked around the bedroom, surprised at how orderly it was now that he could see it properly. A sleek black book shelf towered to his right, matching the furniture around the rest of the room, which created the appearance of more space than was actually available.

"Please don't tell me it's time to get up," said the weak voice of Francis, buried under a thick blue comforter to where only the top of his head could be seen.

Alfred looked over at the face clock hanging on the wall.

"It's seven-ish."

Francis immediately sprung up, looking wild wearing a haggard expression and having his hair mussed every which way.

"We need to get ready."

Alfred bent over the edge of the bed and fished through his bag. Finding his glasses, he put them on and turned just in time to see Francis shuck his shirt and underwear as he opened a dresser drawer.

"Uh…" Alfred didn't know what he was going to say. Either way, his words never came to fruition but he had managed to make enough noise to catch Francis' attention. He whipped his head toward the wall, away from Francis right as he turned around, having made no moves to cover himself in the slightest. Alfred stared at the cucumber green paint, body going rigid as he felt the bed shift and heard the mattress groan under new weight behind him.

"Yes?" A soft coaxing voice sounded next to his ear, a pair of hands running in parallel lines down his back.

"Bathroom."

"...Down the hall."

He was off like a shot, refusing to look back and see Francis sitting with disappointment once again. As soon as the door was closed behind him, he was faced with a narrow hall and several door options before him.

"Eenie, meenie, minie- screw it," he muttered to himself, grabbing the knob of door to his kitty corner.

"My goodness."

A young woman was on the other side, long ash blonde hair braided over her shoulder and a pair of glasses that weren't unlike his own. It was only when Alfred was taking in her business like dress that he remembered Francis' roommate.

"Maelys?" he asked, hoping she'd ignore the fact that he was some stranger about to just barge into her room.

"Yes. You must be Alfred?" She looked perturbed but sounded calm, holding out a delicate hand. Alfred took it, flinching in surprise at the force she put into the handshake.

"I was just about to head into the kitchen, would you like some breakfast?"

"No, no, you don't have to. I should actually be getting ready-"

"Oh, it's more than fine. I'll give you a quick tour of the place." She looked at him so expectantly, that he felt he had little choice in the matter. She led him down the short hall and into the main area, which was a large open living area only divided from the kitchen by a counter. It was essentially Alfred and Kiku's apartment, only nicer.

Though one major difference stuck out like a sore thumb.

"You… Have quite the green thumb," he tried to compliment. Every end table, window sill, cabinet top, and even the center of the small dining table were overrun by potted plants. Green leaves and vines curled over ceramic edges, splashes of color dotted within the foliage and a spicy smell mingled with the natural aroma of the earth that instilled a sense of nostalgia in him.

Maelys laughed softly when she understood his meaning. "Those are all products of Francis' little hobby, all of them are herbs and I think a few vegetables. Silly thing moved in here with a bunch of pots with some sprouts and suddenly I was overrun. Thankfully they're quite good for cooking and pretty to look at, so I didn't mind."

"Oh, that's handy," Alfred responded lamely, bending over a plant and examining it while Maelys started to make noise in the kitchen. He eventually half-heartedly offered to help and she immediately ordered him to sit down in a friendly way that wasn't to be argued with.

It turned out that Maelys was worse than Francis when it came to rambling during small talk. She'd start in on the apartment and what it was like living with Francis before she'd lose her place and strike up a new rant about traffic, or occasionally repeating a story concerning a professor she had just told five minutes ago. Alfred was zoned out for most of the conversation, her rapid fire sentences interspersed with pauses here and there to catch up with herself provided no pattern for him to be able to jump in and participate, so he'd nod and 'uh-huh' during every rest when he managed to notice while taking in the room or the view out the nearest window.

"Ah, I see you've been held hostage, darling." Francis said, suddenly appearing behind him and diving down to kiss him with an obnoxious amount of noise on the cheek. Alfred rubbed at his face ruefully, watching Francis flop onto the chair next to him and smiling with infuriating cockiness.

"Darling?" He replied dryly.

"Peaches?" Francis suggested in a song-song voice.

Alfred glared, to which Francis laughed at mockingly while Maelys kept her back to them.

"You should have introduced us," she admonished lightly, pouring an egg on a plate.

"Had I done that, you would have found something else to complain about," Francis replied warmly. Maelys turned around, pretending to glare at Francis as she handed Alfred his plate of food with a warm, matronly smile.

Going back to the stove, she shot back, "That's not true. It's not every day I get to meet your lovers."

Alfred almost snorted egg through his nose. He coughed loudly, eyes stinging and watering while he tried to swallow his food without choking further. He felt Francis pound him heartily on the back, his fit subsiding after a minute.

Francis looked at him in concern, and Alfred felt as if there was a test he was being put to that only he had to take. Maelys looked over with slight worry as well, and Alfred watched Francis go to speak to her and he suddenly knew that this was his only opportunity. For what, he couldn't decide.

"Boyfriends," he blurted. Francis snapped back to him, and Maelys's expression softened into one of polite confusion. Flustered, Alfred attempted to explain himself, "Lovers kind of sounds like we're mistresses or something, right?" Not to mention it was an inaccurate description at the moment he reluctantly admitted to himself, ruffling him up further.

"I suppose so… Only makes you having snuck in here like a couple of naughty teenagers last night quite scandalous." She set a plate full of eggs in front of Francis. He frowned over them for a moment before seeming to decide they were safe to eat and dug in. Alfred privately went through the elation of having passed. At least he thought he did. Unless he had gotten the mood wrong, and now they both thought he was semantics stickler.

"Would you really have preferred me waking you up in the middle of the night?" Francis asked wryly, a challenge edging his jovial tone.

Maelys didn't respond, smirking before she flounced back to her room before exiting with a suitcase and her goodbyes for the day.

"I must ask you to put pants on, sooner rather than later," Francis said to Alfred after the door closed , getting up to wash his plate and not bothering to hide his amusement as he shot him a rather knowing glance.

Alfred left his fork stabbed into the yolk of his egg, blinking at the yellow liquid running across the white porcelain surface as he took in Francis' insinuation.

Thankfully he hadn't come down from his previous high.

"Sure thing. Give me a sec," he said with casualness that he would have envied had he still been the same person a month ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maelys is supposed to be Monaco, if you're wondering who that's supposed to be. =)


	23. Chapter 23

"Yes?"

Alfred turned back just before he reached the hospital doors to see why Francis had stopped. He was on his phone again, shifting his weight around and conveying his waning patience to Alfred by way of an apologetic glance as the person on the other end went on.

"We'll let them have their alone time and you can follow me and drive us back if it's such a problem."

Arthur again.

Alfred edged back over to Francis, who grunted his ascent to something.

"Alright, come down and we can get that done." He snapped his phone closed and smiled at Alfred pityingly.

"He's here?" Alfred asked tenuously, glancing back at the doors.

"Yes, up in Mathieu's room. He's going to follow me to the closest rental dealership so that I can return the car, take us back here, and then he'll drive us back to my place." Francis looked at Alfred in anticipation, watchfully perusing his face before sucking in his cheeks as he visibly came to a decision. Slowly, he reached out a hand and settled it on the back of Alfred's head. Alfred gave in to Francis' gentle urging, allowing himself to be pulled forward into Francis' shoulder. He rested his forehead on the collar bone, the faint scent of laundry and cologne layered soothingly on top of the pleasantly sharp smell of Francis' skin. Fingertips started to lightly massage at his scalp when the light swish of automatic doors reached his ears. Snapping up, Alfred looked behind again.

No matter how many years would pass, Alfred doubted he'd ever not recognize Arthur. Like Francis, he hadn't aged much. His hair was still the same cut of messy straw, and his eyebrows had remained comically dark and thick. Most importantly of all, he still wore a vaguely displeased frown that always seemed to be his default expression. Bottle green eyes then locked with his, forcing his stomach into a back flip and his ears into ringing with a high pitched whine that usually accompanied machines.

Arthur glanced away just as quickly as he looked, adjusting his cufflinks and walking over. Alfred blinked, shaking his head to recover and stepping back when he noticed how intimately close Francis and he had been.

"Ready?" Arthur asked Francis pointedly. Alfred couldn't stop himself from flinching.

"Aren't you at least going to say hello?" Francis asked just as pointedly.

Arthur set his jaw forward, and Alfred looked at Francis like he was crazy. But the Frenchman's frown conveyed just as much unwillingness to back down as Arthur's did. There was a fire behind his eyes as he stared in challenge, Arthur's cold gaze meeting his evenly.

After what seemed to be a very long and uncomfortable minute, Arthur closed his eyes and cleared his throat. He looked back at Alfred with an alienating distance in his expression.

"How are you, Alfred?"

"Uh, I-I'm fine, thank you," Alfred said back, voice unusually soft as he all but squirmed through their forced greeting.

"See, that wasn't so hard," Francis cut in, clapping Alfred heartily on the shoulder. He was all smiles, but Alfred noted an tightness there that he hadn't seen since he was a kid.

Arthur looked up at the steely grey sky in exasperation, throwing the scarf that was hanging loose around his neck over his shoulder. "You'll have to check in at the nurse's station on the third floor. He isn't in ICU anymore, so they'll let you in with little fanfare."

It took Alfred a while to fully process that Arthur was speaking to him, considering that he had been subjecting the poor hospital wall to his piercing scrutiny as he spoke instead.

"Oh! Yeah, alright," he responded more eagerly than he meant. Arthur simply looked back at Francis, who had watched the proceedings intently.

"We can go now," he sighed. Then, to Alfred with a reassuring wink, "We'll be back soon. So don't get into too much trouble, alright?"Alfred nodded, watching as their broad backs turned to him and were off toward the parking in no time.

He found it funny how they were all about the same height now, Alfred swearing that he was actually a smidgen taller, yet he could still feel so small.

He finally entered the hospital once Francis and Arthur were out of sight, zipping straight to the third floor. Arthur was correct when he said getting in wouldn't be too much trouble, a nurse simply asking him to sign a line on the clipboard.

"Room 311, dear," she said, happily flashing her bleach white teeth.

"I didn't even say who I'm seeing." He blinked at her stupidly, not understanding why she was giggling at him.

"Oh honey, you don't have to."

Ah yes, twins. How could he forget? Even if they weren't identical and Matthew had done his own growing up during their separation, they still must have shared quite the resemblance.

"307… 309… here we are," Alfred muttered, noticing the door to the room was open. He couldn't see the bed from where he was standing, but he could sense that Matt was in there and awake.

Taking a deep breath or five, he rounded the door frame into the room just as a blond head looked up to see their visitor.

Yep, they definitely still looked alike.

Alfred stayed frozen mid stride, taking in a young face that could've been a reflection for a brief moment. But as they stared at each other in silence, Alfred reluctantly noted that there were actually a lot of different things about his brother now.

His face was a little rounder, but not because of plumpness. Even under the hospital gown Alfred could tell he was built like a scarecrow. Alfred was tanner by a good margin, but he out did him in freckles. His hair was longer too, brushing at the nape of his neck which showed off a more noticeable waviness in it that caused Alfred to think of Francis.

To Matt's credit, he had something of a non reaction to Alfred popping up out of nowhere. He stared up at his brother blankly from the bed, as if he were playing a game of chess and was deciphering his opponent's strategy.

He must have been surprised though. There was no way that he wasn't. Unless Arthur mentioned that he was coming? But still…

Alfred stiffly forced himself over to the chair by the bed, sitting on the very edge and hunching over his knees while digging his elbows into his thighs. Matt watched him serenely, eyes unfocused due to his glasses being kept elsewhere. Alfred wanted to speak, but he wavered under the stoic appraisal, not quite having recovered from his encounter with Arthur yet. So he diverted his attention to the plastic dividing curtain between hospital beds.

A soft sigh suddenly had him almost getting whiplash from how fast he went back to Matt.

His expression had changed to one of sympathy, and Alfred found himself disappointed with the lack of anger. "What are you doing here, Al?"

Alfred chomped down on the inside of his cheek harshly before answering, "I'm visiting you in the hospital. What do you think I'm doing?"

"Don't play dumb, you know what I mean."

Alfred swallowed his retort, not wanting the reunion to go sour so soon. "Arthur called looking for Francis. Seems like things were pretty serious-well more than usual… You've never had to go under the knife before."

Matt sat up from the lumpy pillow he had been propped against, scooting forward and mimicking Alfred's sitting position.

"They put in a pacemaker."

Alfred craned his neck to look up at Matt properly, his lower lip kept under his teeth to try and stop it from wobbling. He searched for any sign of injury, as if the incision marks weren't hidden under the thin cotton of his hospital gown but highlighted for his convenience.

"What happened to the pills?" His voice was small like when he'd ask Matt if he was still awake after a bad dream, back in their more innocent and care free days.

"Pills don't fix everything, Al." He tossed his head to the side, his tone one of a teacher who was tired of having to explain a simple concept to an exceptionally slow student.

"Neither do pacemakers," Alfred weakly countered. Matt's form started blurred at the edges, hot tears stinging his eyes as he tried to hold them back.

"Al, come here." Matt held out one frail hand, the limb unsteadily suspended in the air.

Alfred stood and staggered forward, ignoring Matt's hand and bundling him into an embrace as gently as he could. Both of them shook from his heavy sobs, tears sliding from his cheeks and down the back of Matt's neck as he patted Alfred awkwardly on the back from his position.

"Sorry," Alfred said after a hiccup, stepping back and wiping at his eyes.

"When was the last time you cried like that?" Matt laughed, tucking a thick lock of hair behind his ear.

"Aw man… Probably after that huge fight with Arthur." He swallowed heavily, taking off his glasses and wiping away the tears that strayed onto the lenses. With one last sniffle, he sat back down in a far more relaxed position and smiled wryly up at Matt.

"Hi."

"Hi," Matt answered with a quiet giggle.

"How's life been going for you in the Great White North? Francis said you were going to school up there."

Matt bowed his head, picking at the sheets and flaring his nostrils like he always did when he was nervous.

"Pretty good. I really like my classes, Kitchener's a nice place with nice people, and I even started an internship last month. In all honesty, I'm more interested in what you've been doing all these years."

Alfred adjusted his position uncomfortably, his chest burning around where his heart was. Sympathetic pain, maybe?

"Francis kept us updated as well as he could, considering the distance," Matt went on, "But once you left him, it was like you walked into a dead zone and stayed there. The only way we found out where you went was your school called Francis by mistake when you first registered there."

"Well, then you pretty much know all there is to know. I didn't really stray very far," Alfred dodged, hands sliding into his pockets while he explained himself to the tiled floor.

"Is that really all there is?" Matt asked in that understanding voice that reminded Alfred of a psychologist who could tell their patient was lying.

"It's not like I was hitch hiking to California…"

Matt just raised an eyebrow at him. Alfred was beginning to seriously wonder if he was the only one who couldn't do that. They quieted down afterwards, the years of catching up they had to do thickening the air and causing them both to find various parts of the hospital room beyond fascinating.

"Um, can I get your e-mail or your number?" he blurted out once he couldn't take the silence anymore, Matt looking up at him curiously.

"Yeah," he answered with a small smile, "That's fine. I'll write my contacts down for you." Alfred tried not to dwell on how ridiculous it was having had to ask for his own twin brother's number.


	24. Chapter 24

"Oh, it sounds like things are going pretty well in there," Francis commented at the sound of a rough, barking laugh that he would recognize as Alfred's anywhere, causing a warming sensation in his fingers and toes.

"I wouldn't get your hopes up, if I were you," Arthur responded through clenched teeth, shifting uncomfortably behind the blue line that acted as the barrier between the little lobby area and the ward. It was the first time he had spoken since they met out front of the hospital. He didn't even look at Francis when he slid in the passenger seat after he was done at the dealership, simply driving off without a word.

Francis stood patiently on the other side of the line, trying to hide his amusement at Arthur's hovering. The Englishman had the strangest ways of expressing his stubbornness and Francis had learned over the years to just play into his little games and things would work themselves out. He knew Arthur was about to get to the point, having obviously wanted to say something to Francis ever since he found out that he was in Missouri all those weeks ago.

"And why not?"

"Matthew's a very nice young man, but an hour isn't long enough to make up for years."

Francis vaguely wondered if Arthur was trying to be shrewd. "I wasn't assuming that things would magically be healed if I brought him here."

"Why did you bring him?" Arthur's voice, though growing lower, managed to project an impressive amount of volume when he was upset.

Francis glanced over at the nurses on duty, all of them too busy on the phone or arguing over piles of papers to notice the outburst. He stepped toward Arthur lightly and leaned in, keeping his voice slightly above a whisper in the hopes that Arthur would follow suit. "Don't get wrapped up in having to feel offended, Arthur. They're the only real family they have. How could I keep them separated in good conscious?"

"All I'm hearing is that you're meddlesome and can't leave well enough alone." Arthur refused to temper his tone.

"Only you would think a family reunion is meddlesome," Francis sighed. Arthur's face scrunched up at the nose as the retort hit him full force. Francis felt a fleeting moment of regret, but another loud laugh from down the hall quickly dissolved his concern. The frustration and heartache would be worth it in the end. He was confident.

"I haven't been given too much reason to think differently," Arthur said tightly, rotating on his heel and stomping over to a chair in the waiting area. He made sure to sit with his back resolutely facing Francis and the hall.

Despite Arthur's claims of Francis being unable to 'leave well enough alone,' the Frenchman opted to let his old friend stew while he visited with Matthew. Entering the room, he was greeted with the sight of Alfred doubling over on a chair laughing so hard that he couldn't muster up any real noise as Matthew watched him with a less than amused glare over the pillow he was hugging to his body.

"I'm sorry Matt, I'm sorry. Just why didn't you say anything when he sat on you?" Alfred wheezed, starting to laugh again.

Matthew looked about ready to respond with something less than kind when he looked over at the door, his face immediately lighting up.

"Francis," he greeted happily, causing Alfred to sober up and look over as well.

"Mon chou," Francis exclaimed, crossing the room in only a few steps and embracing Matthew firmly.

Then they both launched into an overwhelmingly fast conversation, Matthew managing to keep up with Francis' rapid fire French with some of his own. Alfred watched them go, allowing the words to pass through one ear and out the other. He could tell Francis was teasing Matt about his hair at one point, but only because he picked up a particularly long strand and smilingly asked some sort of question about it.

Alfred watched them blankly for a few minutes before he was struck with a sudden realization that caused him to leap from the chair he was in as if it had scalded him.

Matt and Francis turned their eyes on him, Francis cutting off a sentence mid syllable.

"Uh, would you like a seat?" he offered Francis hastily, barely managing to steady himself as he gestured toward the chair.

"How very sweet of you Alfred, thank you," Francis said in a sickeningly saccharine tone that Alfred knew he was using to be annoying on purpose. He half wanted to sit back down to spite him, but took to leaning against the window sill instead.

Francis got his own update of Matthew's condition. Alfred noted that he didn't look all that surprised at the news of the pacemaker, simply frowning and looking at Matt rather morosely. He eventually went into his own explanation, of where he'd been and what he'd been up to since he left New York.

"I'm actually kind of surprised that you two managed to get together again," Matthew commented benignly after he learned that Francis had been hanging out in Missouri, looking between the two of them with renewed interest. Francis and Alfred froze, the connotation slowly sinking in. Alfred couldn't stop his breath from catching, and Francis hastily glanced over at him. The look Alfred was given was clearly an unspoken question of whether he had told Matthew about the current status of their relationship. Alfred started to go into panic mode in his head, realizing that not only was Francis looking at him with worry but Matthew was too as the pause in conversation stretched on.

"Eh, more like he hunted me down," Alfred joked awkwardly. Despite his clear discomfort, Matthew looked satisfied with the answer and they were all able to go back to small talk.

Checking his watch, Francis let out a long huff and smiled at Matt apologetically, "Well, dear, we should get going. Arthur's waiting on us out in the lobby and you should get some rest."

"Alright," Matt answered in a soft voice that made him sound like a child, "Be sure to visit again yeah? You too." He looked over at Alfred eagerly, and for some reason Alfred felt like a complete ass because of it.

"Yeah, duh," Alfred said back with his own attempt at a smile, "I'm going to be here for a weak at the least. Um, when are they letting you out anyway?"

"They said probably Wednesday if everything checks out."

Alfred nodded, waiting by the door while Francis hugged Matt goodbye and kissed both his cheeks. Alfred felt an odd thrill watching Francis kiss someone, platonic or not, that had the same face as him. He shook himself out of his reverie as Francis stepped by him and back out into the hall. Alfred waved at Matt and followed, walking behind Francis a few paces.

When they reached the waiting area, Arthur's back was still to the ward, but Alfred could see from his position that he was thumbing through a knitting magazine with a good amount of concentration. Alfred could have almost laughed at the sensation of nostalgia sweeping over him, thinking back to days of having to wear uneven and lumpy mittens before Arthur eventually started improving. He would never admit it, but he still kept the multi-toned scarf that Arthur claimed was supposed to be the same one as someone called Fourth Doctor wore, or something.

"Are you ready?" Francis asked, bending over into Arthur's line of sight. Arthur flinched in surprise, quickly stashing the magazine under the pile left on the side table he was sitting nearby.

Clearing his throat as a slight blush dusted over his cheeks and nose, he brushed at his coat and kept his eyes away from them. "Ah, yes, quite- I mean, yes. Shall we?"

If Alfred had thought that their initial meeting was uncomfortable, it had nothing on the tense silence that they sat in on the elevator ride down, to the car and then back up Francis' street. Alfred sat quietly in the back, fiddling with his seatbelt strap and trying not to look at Arthur. Which really meant he was glancing up at him every other second. Even Francis couldn't seem to relax, sitting up in the passenger seat rigidly and staring out the window with purpose rather than inattentive boredom.

Arthur pulled up to the curb not too far away from the front door of the apartment building, tapping at the steering wheel impatiently. Alfred had been lost in thought at that point, not consciously registering that they had arrived. He looked up toward the front, and happened to meet Arthur's eyes watching him steadily by way of the rear view mirror. Surprised, Alfred unbuckled and stumbled out of the car reflexively.

"Uh, thanks," he croaked, realizing that he was probably being very rude. Francis was far more calm in his departure, smoothly unbuckling his seatbelt and thanking Arthur politely before stepping out of the car with more grace than Alfred could ever hope to have in a life time.

"Ah, I really have upset him," Francis said with a level of contriteness as the car sped off as soon as the door closed. He waved after it lazily anyway.

"What makes you so sure it was you?" Alfred asked, looking bemusedly after the car as it turned a corner and was out of sight.

"Years of perfecting the craft," Francis answered, looking over at Alfred who was still staring down the street. Feeling naughty, he tapped him on the shoulder.

As Alfred looked to see what Francis wanted, he turned directly into a pair of lips. Their mouths had missed a little, Alfred mostly pressing at Francis' Cupid's bow. Even though the kiss went about as well as the hospital visit, Alfred still managed to melt into it. A tension he hadn't noticed in his shoulders disappeared and he was feeling calm again.

"What was that for?" he asked sleepily, their short day taking a toll on him already.

"You were asking for it," Francis said with a smirk, gently weaving his fingers with Alfred's.

"If you say so," Alfred turned his head to hide a yawn before addressing Francis again, "I didn't tell Matt anything about us beyond what you said."

Francis nodded. "I gathered as much. We'll have to be very careful about how we're going to break the news."

Alfred bit his lip nervously, the thought of what Arthur's face would look like already intimidating him. Then there was Matt, and who knew how he was going to take it. Though he had only stayed with him for a short time in his youth, Matt still saw Francis as some sort of paternal figure. That much was obvious.

"Well, enough worrying for one day," Francis said, interrupting Alfred's thoughts. He led them up to the door and rung himself in, "Would you like lunch?"

"Did you really just ask me if I wanted food?" Alfred laughed, pushing away his apprehension and taking in Francis' profile before they went in.

"Silly me, of course you do." He laughed as well, the windowless hallway suddenly seeming brighter to Alfred as a result.


	25. Chapter 25

"Find it yet?" Francis called down the hall. Alfred was kneeling on the bedroom floor in front of his bag, the contents spilling out messily after he frantically rummaged through it for the past twenty minutes.

Alfred was fishing through his jean pockets, pulling them inside out and then tossing them aside when he found them to be empty. He was about to give up when he suddenly remembered that he had a shirt with chest pockets. Pulling out the plaid garment, he opened the front flap and saw a stiff corner of white paper peaking out.

"Yes! - Ah, yeah, I did," he called back, twisting uncomfortably to face the door.

He pulled out the paper, revealing the name 'G. B. Schmitz' and a phone number underneath it. He hadn't had the chance yet to contact the person that his professor had referred him to, his mind having been preoccupied lately. In fact, he had totally forgotten until Francis said something that reminded him after they had finished eating lunch.

Looking down at the name and number, he started to wander down the hall. He was just about to reach the end, when he grabbed for his phone only to find himself groping at air. Stopping, he looked unseeingly at the paper before him, and with a heavy sigh he turned back around on his heel.

"Where in the… Oh, there," he mumbled, spotting his phone peeking out from under the bed.

He snatched it, his triumph from finding it ruined by the loud sound of ripping. Looking down at his phone, Alfred saw a jagged strip of paper dangling from the corner of the casing that covered the battery. Prying it loose as gently as he could, he noticed that it was a glossy bar of solid light blue on one side and white on the other. Reaching back under the bed, his hand found purchase with a heavy object that he slid out into view.

He had a brief moment to see that what he had pulled was a stack of magazines before the top few went scuttling across the floor, pages flying open with a chorus of fluttering paper.

He picked up the one that used to be the top of the pile, a piece missing from the corner of the cover that had faded from age before spotting a yellow sticky note jutting out from the middle like a friendly hello. Looking back out the door to see if Francis was coming, he opened to the marked page and saw rows of small blurbs reviewing several restaurants. His eye was drawn to the one with the name highlighted in orange, the quote giving high praise to the small and newly opened establishment that the food critic had eaten at. Glancing at the date, Alfred recognized the place as Francis' first restaurant that he had opened and lost practically a life time ago.

Finished reading, his eyes wandered to the white gap between the column of letters and the edge of the page. There a note was scribbled in hasty handwriting that he didn't recognize, _'You didn't get it this time, but you're still the best!'_ , followed by a hokey looking smiley face. Oddly enough, the note was written in black pen but circled by blue ink, as if to draw attention to it. He felt a strange ache in his heart, reading the snippet over and over again as well as the random note.

"Are you going to keep pacing up and down the hall like that all day?" Alfred heard Francis drone as he walked back into the main living area, not even having noticed that his feet had taken him back down the hall while he perused the rest of the magazine.

"Oh I was just-is that a type writer?" Alfred looked up from his reading, eyeing the desk by the wall Francis was sitting at. Earlier he hadn't paid attention to what was on it, a surprising amount of clutter making it the one part of the room he felt he should ignore because it intrigued him so much.

Books, papers, and other such items were either stacked by the ledges or piled neatly on the floor next to it, the centerpiece being a ridiculously retro typewriter sitting in front of Francis. The white plastic had been sun bleached into a faded light yellow and crisp multi-use paper jutted out of it with rows of black print stamped neatly onto them for contrast. If Alfred ever had to describe it to someone, he would say it looked like a keyboard and a printer mated to create a huge, mutated calculator looking thing.

Francis looked up from his hunched position, tucking the pencil he was using to scribble something down on a notepad behind his ear.

"What does it look like?"

"How old are you?" Alfred asked, mind still stuck on that… thing.

"Don't be rude. I'm typing everything that I've put in my journal." Francis frowned up at him, as if the entire proceeding was completely normal and Alfred was weird for questioning it.

"Would it even- There's a computer over there," Alfred sputtered, jerking his thumb at a laptop that sat unobtrusively on the coffee table.

"It's Maelys's," Francis countered huffily, crossing his arms over his chest.

"But you have a cell phone."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

" _I_ know how to use a computer."

"And?"

"I used to live on a farm with an outhouse."

"You're exaggerating. Besides, you were a toddler, how would you know?"

"I'm just… You do know how to use a computer don't you?" Alfred rolled up the magazine and stuck it in his waistband behind his back.

"Of course I do, I just don't like to," Francis shrugged, glancing at the magazine before it disappeared. He didn't react to the motion, only looking back up at Alfred with the same perturbed expression. "If you want to be outraged with anyone, make it the world. No one writes or talks anymore; it's all texting and e-mails. It's too out of touch and impersonal if you ask me."

Alfred was aghast. He never thought that out of all the things he and Francis had in common, an impressive ineptitude with random pieces of technology would be counted among them. Setting his fists on his hips, he looked over at Francis disbelievingly.

Francis sheepishly looked off to the side. "Alright, they keep breaking on me. But I don't know how! Maelys's old laptop managed to contract a fatal virus even though I was only looking up directions." He flung his arms up and down in a vertical motion, mimicking a two-handed judo chop and staring accusingly at the empty space in front of him like he could see the poor machine he had unwittingly ended.

"It's amazing you've managed to go through life unscathed," Alfred said, amused.

"That's not true. When I was young, my face helped Arthur become a better boxer. Shame he didn't keep up with his training when he went into Secondary School, I'm sure it would have loosened him up a bit," Francis responded absently, taking the pencil back from behind his ear and crossing out something down on his notepad.

"Ah…" Alfred reached back and fiddled with the magazine for a moment, contemplating if he wanted to say something about it. But when he went back to look at Francis, the older man was already back in the fold of his work. As sneakily as he could, he took the magazine out and snuck back toward the bedroom.

"Either pick a place to settle down or I'll sit on you," he heard Francis shout when he crossed the threshold again.

"Like you could hold me down," he yelled back, mentally cursing his poor verbal sparring skills. Stuffing the pile of magazines back under the bed, including the one he had been carrying around, he thumbed at the paper with the photographer's contact. Sitting on the mattress, he nervously hesitated over his phone. Well, if Francis was going to work on his career, he might as well too.

Mustering up the courage, he tapped in the number. He almost clicked 'End' when the phone started ringing, his heart beating wildly in his chest with every second his call went unanswered.

Just as Alfred was about to hang up, he heard the phone click and the rough sounds of movement of someone answering.

 _"Yeah?"_ Snapped someone who sounded distracted.

Alfred furrowed his brow when he heard the voice, wondering why it sounded familiar.

"Uh, hi, is this Schmitz? With the advertising company?" he asked as professionally as he could.

_"You got it. Who's this?"_

"Uh, I'm Alfred Jones. My professor-"

_"Alfred? What the hell, are you drunk?"_

Well, that explained where he heard that voice before. He was really starting to hate phones at this point in his life.

"Gilbert?"

_"No duh. Why are you calling my work phone?"_

"I was told to call you about a position in an advertising company?" He didn't know why he phrased his response in the form of a question, it just seemed appropriate for his confusion.

 _"You didn't know you were calling me?"_ A loud, witchy cackle forced Alfred to pull the phone away from his ear for a moment.

"The card said Schmitz. Your name's not Schmitz," he informed him before his brain made the reminder that he had no idea what Gilbert's last name was.

_"Technically, it's Beilschmidt-Schmitz, if you can freaking believe it. Me and Lud are half brothers, so I got stuck with the stupid name when my mom remarried."_

"I had no idea. Um, about my professor-"

_"Ah, man. You can't be that college kid Dee mentioned?"_

"And you're the stock photo guy. What were the chances of that?" He said the last part more to himself than anything.

_"Depends. How many professional photographers do you think live in Columbia?"_

"I didn't know you were a professional photographer."

_"What else would I be doing with all that darkroom equipment?"_

"Uh… Hobby stuff?" So much for the kinky, porno mags theory. Served him right for having his mind in the gutter in the first place.

_"Ohohoho, this is too good. I'll have you know that whatever you think of me, I actually run a tight ship. So if you think you're going to get away with slacking off because we hang out-"_

"Wouldn't dream of it," Alfred cut in miserably, staring longingly out the window and wishing for a meteor to rocket out of the sky and hit him.

 _"Anyway, where have you been? Kinda missed you hanging around like a creep,"_ Gilbert asked nonchalantly, barely covering his frustration at being the one interrupted.

"New York for family stuff."

_"When will you get back?"_

"When do you want me back?"

_"Make it the seventh."_

"Of January?"

_"Well it wouldn't be the seventh of December, would it?"_

"Uh, no. That's fine, Gil. I'll see you when I get back then?"

_"Ah, man, your ass is soooo-"_

Alfred never found out what his ass was going to be, considering he hung up. Dropping the phone on the bedspread, he fell back and splayed himself out. He was thinking his good and bad luck came to him in equally strong waves.

"Are you alright? I could hear you from the other side of the apartment." Francis was leaning over his comatose form, looking down at him in concern.

"Hold me," Alfred demanded, half joking with his melodramatic tone.

"What-herk!" Francis was pulled down on the bed, Alfred throwing himself casually over his stomach and settling his head below his sternum.

"Is something wrong?" Francis asked, his expression on of mild surprise.

"Nah, I was just thinking about how much I loved you," he answered, tracing a figure eight by Francis' collar.

Francis' face was blank, blue eyes trained on Alfred unblinkingly. Then his face relaxed, and he let his head fall back on the bed. His stomach started to jerk up and down, breathy laughter bubbling forth.

"Geeze. I'm honest with my feelings and you're laughing at me," Alfred said blandly, letting his head be bounced as Francis' laughter started to subside.

"Ha, sorry. I wasn't expecting you to be in such an intimate mood, considering this morning." He rested a hand on Alfred's forehead. Alfred closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, deciding to ignore Gilbert's existence. Well, until the next month.

"Hey, Francis?" Alfred asked after a short pause, cozying in on the bed further.

"Yes?"

"Where did you even find that typewriter?"

"It was my father's," he answered simply, petting Alfred's hair as they both lay quietly.

Alfred somehow felt reassured by the answer.


	26. Chapter 26

The door to the apartment opened and Maelys trotted in looking pleased. She patted light, fluffy flakes of snow off of her shoulders and smiled over at Alfred on the couch.

"Afternoon," she greeted with friendly briskness. She undid her coat and was headed to the pegs on the wall before stopping and squinting over at Alfred again. "I suppose it's actually evening and not the afternoon, though."

Alfred took out his phone and checked the time. "Oh yeah, wow. The day went kinda fast, then." He shoved the phone back in his pocket with a weary sigh, resting his head back on the couch arm.

"From the look on your face, I'd guess Francis has stepped out?" She teased lightly.

"Nah, he's sleeping," Alfred responded, trying to sleuth the same magazine from earlier under his legs and out of sight. They had actually both fallen asleep at one point, Alfred waking up after only a few minutes and quickly growing tired of sitting in the room and looking around aimlessly while waiting for Francis to wake up. With a combination of curiosity and nothing to do he took out the magazine pile again and started reading some of them, still favoring the first one he had encountered. He hadn't realized how complicated the cooking and restaurant world could be, and he had gained a whole new respect for both Francis and even his boss for having run such businesses.

Maelys walked over to the couch, tapping at his feet so that he would move them off the couch and onto the floor. Sitting up, Alfred looked over at her as she sat primly on the cushion's edge, hands clasped lightly on her lap and her posture impossibly straight. She smiled down at him warmly and expectantly, and Alfred was panicking internally with trying to figure out what she wanted. Then, her face brightened up as her eyes snapped directly to something.

"What do we have here?" She reached over and plucked out the magazine that Alfred had belatedly realized was still poking out from behind the cover of his jeans.

"I was bored," he explained eagerly as she casually turned it in her hands and rapidly flipped through the pages with idle curiosity.

"Where did you find this?" she asked, sitting back and reading the recipes section.

"I found a whole pile of them under Francis' bed. I was really expecting porn," he shrugged, staring over at the kitchen as he sensed Maelys looking up at him.

"Does he know you found this?" She asked calmly, resting a well manicured finger on top of a recipe for lamb she had taken a liking to.

"Ah… Not, like, um, at all…" Alfred tried to mutter as quickly and quietly as he could yet still seem like he was answering her question. He felt her eyes on him again, and this time he couldn't help but face them. She didn't seem angry, but she was looking at him in a way that said that they both knew he was in the wrong.

"I didn't think it was a big deal 'cause it's just a magazine," Alfred defended weakly.

"Well if he kept something as old and silly as this, it's safe to assume that it's important to him. Don't you have things that you wouldn't want people to be going through as they please?"

Alfred immediately thought of his shoebox under his bed a thousand miles away. Even if it was family stuff, and even if he loved Francis, he'd be pretty pissed if the man looked at it without permission.

"I never thought of it that way," Alfred admitted guiltily. Invading someone's privacy was something of a huge no-no in relationships, even he knew that. He hadn't been thinking too hard about why Francis would be keeping useless old stuff around, and he felt like an idiot because of it.

"As long as you understand. Would you like some tea?"

Alfred wanted to decline, but from the earnest look on her face he could tell there wasn't much of an option.

"If you're making some for yourself, sure," he answered, thinking she'd make a great lawyer. No, an interrogator would be better.

Cups clicked and clacked for a while as she dug through the cabinets after setting a kettle on the stove to boil. "To be honest I feel bad for you. You're stuck between two men that are hard to get along with."

"You know Arthur too?" He asked in surprise, wandering over to a chair that was closest to her at the dining table.

She nodded, closing her eyes. Alfred could sympathize. Knowing one could be a headache, much less both of them. Then he absently thought that maybe he should buy Matt something to distract himself with, or something, if he really had been putting up with the two all by his lonesome the past few years.

"Because I live with Francis I've encountered him occasionally. But, I also have a good friend that works under Arthur at the firm, so I've heard stories well before Francis came back."

"Oh, poor thing," Alfred laughed, "I'm sure they drive lots of people crazy, but not as much as each other. You should have seen them today. Like a couple of wet cats." He didn't dwell on the fact that he was probably why they were so hostile toward each other, and not that they may have gotten along just fine when he was absent.

A sharp whistle sliced through the air, signaling that the water was ready. Maelys finished making up their drinks, handing a coffee mug over to Alfred with the words "I Heart NY" printed on it.

"Yes, those two do seem to get under each other's skin quite often. Though I must say, I haven't seen Francis look so content since he came back from France as I've seen him with you." She smiled at him warmly, but Alfred didn't have time to fully appreciate how pretty it made her look.

"Came back from France?" He repeated in question. He remembered back to finding out about Francis' departure for Europe about a year ago when an old neighbor of theirs came into the coffee shop and asked after him. "Oh yeah, that. He never did say why he stayed so long." Or anything about it at all, a vicious voice reminded Alfred darkly.

"Oh, well, apparently there was a dispute over the will and who the estate was left to."

"Estate?" Alfred unwillingly pictured a grand plantation house, even though that would make no sense in the French countryside.

Maelys shook her head sadly, thoughtfully puffing air across the surface of her lightly colored tea. "Yes, apparently his mother made all sorts of promises to extended family before her time and none of it was in writing. So of course, things had to be settled with him there. What a mess, really. I offered to help, but he just wanted to do it all by himself as usual. He never mentioned this?"

Alfred was surprised by the sudden question, having been entranced by her explanation that she spoke almost too quickly for him to understand. "He-he didn't mention why there was so much legal trouble." Alfred could feel the lie burn his throat and ache at his teeth. He must have played it off well, though, for Maelys only continued the bobbing movement of her head.

"Sucks about his mom… at the end," Alfred felt compelled to speak again, thumbs running nervously in circles around the smooth surface of his ceramic mug.

Maelys took a long sip before setting her own cup down, "I agree. From what I could tell, she was a sweet woman. It's tragic that they could never reconcile."

"Reconcile," Alfred whispered past his throat, feeling like it was closing up. As if he were having an allergic reaction to the news.

"They had a fight before he first came the States." Now Maelys was looking at him dubiously, beginning to figure out why he wasn't responding knowingly to what must have been old gossip to everyone else.

Alfred took a moment. He picked a spot on the table to concentrate on, shallowly trying to control his breathing. Counting back from ten, he reached 'one' and smiled back up at Maelys as convincingly as he could.

"Oh, yeah, sorry. Had to jog my memory for a moment there."

Maelys seemed surprised but didn't argue. Whatever she planned on doing or saying next remained a mystery as the click of a bedroom door caught both of their attentions. Francis Walked out of the hallway, looking surprisingly well kempt for having just woken up from a nap.

Striding over to the kitchen without looking at either one of them, he rummaged through the fridge before turning and approaching the table with his hands full of plates and a metal bowl.

"You're going to shell these," Francis ordered bluntly, setting everything on the table so that they both could see that the bowl was full of peas before he started to pile them on a plate. Alfred watched him with Maelys in mute fascination. "Unlike Maelys, I won't have you just sitting around in my own home while I slave away for you," he continued abruptly, snapping them both out of their reverie. Alfred was terrified for a moment, thinking that maybe Francis had heard him. But he spied the slightest spark of mischief in his eyes, and he felt he could relax again.

Snorting, he muttered under his breath something about a drama queen that caused Maelys to chuckle and for Francis to saddle him with the biggest pile of peas. He then started rummaging around in the kitchen, apparently not needing to ask whether either of them had eaten already.

Visibly growing uncomfortable with the silence, Maelys deftly shelled a pea and asked Alfred conversationally, "Will you be visiting your brother tomorrow as well?"

Alfred was struck by the question. Could he do that?

Looking over at Francis for some type of assurance, he was disappointed to see him steadfastly engrossed with picking out a pan and setting it on the stove. He could see that the older man had heard her question by the way he kept his eyes so determinedly locked on his work, but he was obviously not going to answer for him.

"Um, I hope so. I would like that," Alfred answered, scratching the back of his neck.

"Arthur has a heavy workload that he's been getting behind on lately. I'm sure he'd appreciate others taking on some of the responsibility, and Matthew would enjoy the company," Francis said after hearing Alfred's response as he sloshed some broth into the pan he had hauled out.

"Wouldn't Arthur visit everyday anyway, though?" Maelys asked, eyes on her work.

"Hm, yes. But he wouldn't have to cut down on his hours this way."

"Yeah, I'll do that," Alfred offered half heartedly, Francis keeping busy in the kitchen as him and Maelys shelled peas for the rest of the evening. Alfred found the task mind numbingly pleasant, and was thankful for it.


	27. Chapter 27

"Al-"

"And then he was like, 'You can't even get a simple order right,' and I was all like, 'Dude, chill. I can just make you another one,' and he was all-"

 _"Al,"_ Matt ground out with his most heated glare. He had nothing on Arthur.

Alfred fell back in his seat with a heavy thud, put out that he was interrupted before he got to the good part. Matt was pacing around the room, looking restlessly at the door and back at Alfred occasionally. Alfred figured he was on edge because he was finally being discharged. Arthur was even at the desk filling out the paper work while Alfred talked to Matt.

He was doing his best to play 'catch up' since he had only managed to visit during one of the two days between his arrival and them letting Matt go back home. Turned out both Francis and Arthur could manage to agree on something, and it was that Alfred should never ride the bus in a city he didn't know ever again. Alfred didn't have the heart to tell either of them he had hung out in St. Louis for a week after high school and just rode around the buses there before somehow winding up in Columbia. Not that he would have a chance, they were both too busy yelling at him so the whole ward could hear when they had arrived together. Poor Matt tried to resolve things peacefully, but his voice was drowned out by the shouting. Finally, a no nonsense nurse with five inches on all of them told them to shut up or get out.

Since then, Francis had spitefully kept Alfred on lock down unless someone could escort him somewhere. Alfred grumbled about Francis acting like he was his father, which promptly landed him on the couch that night.

"You only talk like that when you're trying to distract yourself. What happened?"

Alfred wasn't in the mood to dredge out the subject. He hadn't been in the mood for the past few days. He knew he shouldn't have acted so distant and contrary, but he still couldn't shake the hurt of Francis keeping something as big as his mother dying from him. But now Matt was offering an opportunity to figure out how to fix it, which was all he really wanted. Keeping in mind just how much he wanted to go back to simply getting to freely touch Francis as he pleased and finding astounding happiness from it, he decided to whittle out as much advice as he could without revealing everything.

"Did you know Francis' mom died?" He meekly asked, lifting his head up at Matt who had moved by the window. He had been meaning to ask Matt if he knew anyway. He'd been meaning to ask if he knew about the legal trouble. He had even told himself that he should ask Maelys if she told Francis about their conversation. He had been meaning for a lot of things, he supposed.

"Yeah…" Matt said in that irritated tone that told Alfred he might as well have proclaimed water to be wet.

"Any ideas on why he wouldn't tell me?" He didn't care how bitter he sounded. He felt every ounce of it, remembering how Maelys had spoke as if Francis' history was such common knowledge.

"Shouldn't you ask Francis and not me?" Alfred was kind of pissed that he didn't seem too surprised by the question.

"Well, yeah. But it seems a little intrusive doesn't it? I mean, he'd tell me if he wanted to, so I'm guessing he doesn't want to."

Matt rolled his eyes up at the ceiling in contemplation before sighing and asking, "This is really bugging you isn't it?"

"Well, yeah! I mean, we made up, so it's kinda disappointing when he doesn't tell me something that big." Hearing his own petulance and seeing the mild surprise on Matt's face, the fight went out of Alfred.

Matt sat back down on the bed and shook his head sympathetically, causing Alfred to deflate even more. "Did you ever think that maybe he didn't say anything for your sake?"

Alfred blinked at him, vainly attempting to raise an eyebrow before settling on drawing them together instead. "I don't get it."

"Well, you took mom's death pretty hard," Matt spoke as if Alfred were still in need of being comforted.

"No harder than you did," Alfred argued, thinking back on their childhood and how they both were pretty equally miserable. It wasn't his fault that Matt was never as open as him.

"I'm not comparing," Matt said, holding his hand in surrender to stop the incoming argument. "But it was different for each of us, even if you don't remember." Matt was only thirteen minutes older than him, so Alfred was having a hard time imagining him with that much better of a memory.

"Oh, and what do you remember?" Alfred asked sullenly.

"You would almost always come crying to me at night."

"Yeah, that I know," he retorted, well aware of his bad sleeping habits in both the past and the present.

"What you don't know is that you used to talk in your sleep too."

Alfred opened and closed his jaw a few times, praying that it wasn't a habit he still had now that he was thinking back on all the nights he spent next to Francis.

"Almost every night you'd end up crying out to her at some point. It only stopped when we started fourth grade and Arthur scolded you for being too old to sneek into other people's beds." Matt lightly laughed at the end of his last sentence, seeming reminiscent.

"What does that have to do with Francis not telling me about his mom?"

"You know, you should really talk to Francis about all this," Matt said tiredly.

"I will, but I want your opinion too. You're insightful, so I want the advice," Alfred admitted sheepishly, looking at Matt pleadingly.

"Alright fine," he sighed heavily, "I think he wanted the comfort with someone who understood, but he ended up not having the heart to tell you."

"He couldn't find that with you?" Alfred asked dubiously.

"Well, I'm sure he could've. But I think his heart went out more to you. I think he may have been bugged by how alone you must have been. Or at least that was his thinking. I know you're the type to make friends easy, so," Matt answered with a shrug.

Alfred could see that Matt thought his answer was less than helpful, and Alfred wished he could tell him how wrong he was. An ache beat in his chest, and Alfred suddenly understood. He could almost laugh how much of a stubborn ass everyone in their broken little family was.

"Thanks, Matt," he said genuinely, smiling wide and unthinkingly.

"Eh, no problem?" he answered back uncertainly.

"Alright I'm done. Get changed and we can go," Arthur said, suddenly at the door. Alfred wondered how long he had been there, and hoped he had just come in. Matt nodded and picked up a neatly folded pile of clothes before disappearing into the restroom.

"Francis is at the house, so I'll be taking you with us back home," Arthur informed Alfred as soon as Matt was out of earshot.

"That's fine," Alfred answered.

The drive wasn't as uncomfortable as the last time, though it was longer. The road conditions slowed the pace, making Alfred nervous, but Arthur didn't seem keen on being in a foul mood with Matt around. They all sat in a semi-comfortable silence, Alfred admiring the square and triangular houses that passed by when they entered into a neighborhood. Finally they pulled up to a skinny two story, Arthur stopping in the snow covered driveway before going to help Matt out of the car. They entered the house, lights already on, crowding around the entrance and knocking off as much snow from their shoes as they could.

"You should go rest," Arthur said to Matt, hanging up his coat in the stuffed coat closet by the door. "I'll go call the pharmacy and order your prescription."

Alfred looked after him over Matt's shoulder before turning to his brother once he was gone.

"You doing okay?"

Matt frowned up at him, "I'm fine." Alfred tried not to smile at how grumpy he sounded at being clucked over so much by a bunch of hens. He followed Matt to the staircase with every intention of teasing him further, until he saw Matt hesitate over the bottom step.

"You sure you can get up the stairs?" Alfred asked nervously as Matt gripped onto the railing. The older twin looked over his shoulder with a sour frown. He still had nothing on Arthur.

"I'm not helpless, it's just a pacemaker," he snapped, climbing up the stairs just fine.

"Geeze, sorry," Alfred grumbled, crossing his arms and watching Matt disappear out of sight.

"Don't take it too personally," Francis spoke in his ear, smiling peacefully as he looked after the now empty stairs himself. Alfred jumped, whipping around and trying to cover his surprise.

"I'm not. This is just how we've always operated. I don't think there's ever been a time where he hasn't thought I was over bearing," Alfred sighed, bringing down his arms.

He couldn't help smiling over at Francis, heart clenching as they exchanged a glance. He knew that it was an inappropriate time to feel the overwhelming urge to lean over and kiss the older man, so he stuck to grinning like a loon and hoping Francis understood. By the warmth that reached Francis' eyes, he guessed he had. The weirdness between them the past few days washed away, and Alfred was just about to damn it all and at least squeeze Francis' hand when a soft cough was heard behind them.

Alfred figured that Francis and Arthur must have swapped stealth skills in order to sneak up behind people, because how else could he have gotten so close without either of them noticing? They weren't that caught up in the moment were they?

Meeting Arthur's eye, Alfred found his answer.

Arthur knew. He could tell by how strained his face was despite not having any discernible expression and how his green eyes seemed to almost be glowing. The effect had always been terrifying, and Alfred had thankfully only found himself on the receiving end of it once. That was, before that very moment.

Nostrils flaring as he took in a deep breath through his nose, Arthur coldly spoke, "Alfred, may I speak with you in the kitchen? Alone."

Alfred looked over at Francis. He seemed just as stressed as Alfred at how angry Arthur suddenly was, but he didn't seem wholly worried. Though when he glanced at Alfred, he saw the strained look on his face and tried to intervene, "Surely whatever you two need to discuss can be aired out here? It's not like I'm a stranger Arthur-"

"You were the one that wanted us to patch things up. This doesn't involve you, so help Matthew settle in if you're that bored." Arthur spoke too pleasantly, his polite tone sharpened with barely contained rage.

Francis looked just as angry and ready to tell Arthur just what he could settle and where, but Alfred quickly spoke up, "It's fine." Francis still looked like he wanted to argue, but Alfred shook his head. The situation was hardly salvageable even without another fight between the two. Alfred figured Arthur would ask, and he would just deny and tell him he misinterpreted everything.

Comforted by the thought, he followed Arthur into the kitchen. He looked back to see Francis staring after them stonily so he smiled reassuring. Francis shook his head sadly before he disappeared when Alfred crossed kitchen threshold.

For a while, Alfred watched as Arthur banged around the kitchen looking for something. Making a soft 'aha' he pulled out a bottle of gin and unceremoniously splashed it into a stout glass. Slamming the drink back, Arthur wiped at his mouth and left everything on the counter before turning to face Alfred again.

"So," he began coolly, sliding into a chair at the card table by the wall, "You and Francis really have made up after all…"


	28. Chapter 28

Arthur was waiting for a response. Even though he only made a vague comment, he was going to wait for Alfred to answer, because they both knew that it was really a question.

Alfred quickly tried to weigh his options. He figured playing the ignorance card was probably a bad move, but he couldn't come up with anything else when he was standing in the lion's den with Arthur looking at him in such a way.

"We wouldn't have come here together if we hadn't made up," he responded, shrugging and doing his usual 'shove hands in pockets because he's 'oh-so-casual' and unfazed' move.

Arthur rubbed the back of his index finger just under his lips, looking down at the floor thoughtfully before coming back up with a sharp green glare that almost knocked Alfred physically backwards with the force of its fury.

Cocking a smirk that displayed the exact opposite of any sort of pleasure, he went on in a voice filled with hollow humor, "Of course. Long trip was it? Even if you two had been seeing each other before hand, being stuck in a car together still must have been troublesome. But, I suppose that type of situation wouldn't bother you as much as it would bother me. You're so forgiving, after all."

Alfred felt sick. Bile rolled around in his stomach unpleasantly and he couldn't regulate his breathing. With every second passing that Arthur stared him down, Alfred felt an increased pressure in his lungs as his heart seemed to stutter and stop at random. He was sure he was on the verge of tears again, except he knew Arthur wouldn't be as merciful with him as Matt if he started crying.

Like the mouse caught by the cat, Alfred didn't want to let Arthur toy with him any further. "Just say what your problem is." He had a moment to revel in how strong his voice had sounded before the stoicism that Arthur's face had dropped into had him nervous again.

He firmly planted his palms on the table and stood up again. Keeping their eyes locked, he strode over briskly as Alfred remained mesmerized by the fluid movement. Stopping almost a foot away, Arthur twitched his lip downward unpleasantly, readying himself for something.

"You're sleeping with him." There was no room for argument in his tone.

"No, actually, I'm not," Alfred argued anyway. He was satisfied with Arthur being wrong, even if another part of him felt regretful that he wasn't guilty.

"I'm not an idiot. I saw how you two looked at each other. You may think I'm some heartless monster, Alfred, but I know that type of relationship when I see it."

"So what?" Not Alfred's best remark, but he was so angry he could hardly see straight. The feeling was somewhat nostalgic. Like they were picking up where they had left off all those years ago. He even dared to think it was cathartic in its own way.

"So-so you're doing this to get back at me!" Arthur snapped, shoulders hunching up like a scared cat's.

"Not everything's I do is about you." Alfred stooped slightly, so that they were more at eye level. So that Arthur could better see how pissed he was.

"No, but you think everything's about you."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Alfred started to yell, taking the time to briefly notice how quickly their argument had devolved.

"You're a selfish brat who gives no consideration to others," Arthur hissed, sounding unusually upset, even for him.

Alfred actually agreed. He knew he had made far too many self involved decisions to even begin to disagree. But hearing the accusation so resentfully from Arthur of all people sparked a contrariness that smothered his hurt feelings.

"How the hell am I selfish?"

"You've turned your back on every single person in this family. How else am I supposed to see you?"

"Oh, like you're a saint? You just think that because I didn't do the things you wanted me to. You're not happy unless everyone's nodding along with you like a puppet!"

"How dare you! I've done nothing but take care of you, and offer you a future-"

"I didn't want your future, I wanted mine! There was no way I was going to let you trap me in that stupid business firm-"

"It's a family business. I just wanted to pass it on-"

"You're not my family!"

The noise was a very loud and fleshy pop. Alfred thought for a moment that it sounded much worse than it felt, until the skin of his cheek stopped tingling and the sting set in. Arthur's hand was crossed over his chest and suspended in the air, the fingers still stiffened and the palm facing away.

He looked angry, his eyes narrowed to a snakelike impression. Then their intensity faded, and his face went the palest Alfred had ever seen.

Alfred didn't say anything, a little shocked even though that was most certainly not the first time he'd been hit. Hell, he got socked in the jaw a few times before because some dude didn't like the way he was looking at him or thought he was too smiley or some other bullshit.

But Arthur had never come anywhere near having hit him before, and a voice in his head helpfully reminded Alfred that he had never said anything so callous before either. Not even when he had picked up and left, did he ever consider Arthur as anything but family in some capacity. No matter how upset with each other they were.

They both stood there frozen like they were posing for a daguerrotype processed photo.

Arthur eventually lowered his arm, blinking while his brain caught up with what had just happened. Alfred had already come to his own conclusion, though, and he had to do something before all of Francis' efforts were put to waste.

"I... I'll be back," he muttered distantly. Arthur looked confused by his response, but said nothing.

Yes, Alfred had to leave as soon as he could, before he said anything else that would end up ruining everything. Leaving Arthur there, he wandered toward the front door without much of a plan of what he was going to do once he was outside.

"Alfred?"

He whipped around at the sound of the small voice at the stairs. Matt was standing a few steps below the landing, hunching over to peer down better. He felt a stab in his chest looking at the troubled and confused expression on his brother's face, and then he felt the knife twist when he noticed Francis hovering worriedly behind him and looking at him as if one of them was about to die.

At that point, Alfred was beyond exhausted from feeling guilty all the time, yet more built in his chest against his will.

"I was just going to go for a walk and cool off," he told Matt, getting choked up again. Matt walked the rest of the way down the stairs and continued until they were properly facing each other, looking him in the eye with what Alfred swore was disappointment.

"You said something similar six years ago. What's different this time?"

Alfred swallowed heavily, gripping at the knob and eyes roving Matthew's face for the correct answer to the question despite suspecting there wasn't one.

Soon his mouth was responding before his head had time to filter anything. "I want to come back."

"But will you?"

"I will," he promised and then turned to Francis, who had followed Matt down the stairs, with even more determination, "I'll be back." Francis seemed shocked, but nodded.

Knowing that he understood, Alfred was putting on his coat and out the door.

Merely a beat in time afterward did Arthur come out of the kitchen, looking lost in his own home.

"What did you do?" Francis asked venomously, leveling Arthur his most impressive glare and reaching the end of the landing to join Matthew.

"What did I do? You're one to talk, this is all your doing," Arthur fought back. Francis darkly pulled his brows down in confusion before his face relaxed with the sudden realization that hit him. The array of emotions ebbing on and off his face would have been comical had the mood not been so tense. Sorting himself out, Francis set his jaw determinedly and played up his height as much as he physically could.

"You're just going to stand there?" He deflected, the argument Arthur wanted to have needing to be saved for another time.

Arthur clicked his tongue. "Isn't that what you're doing? Why don't you go after him? You brought him here."

"It's not my place," Francis answered simply.

"So you're trying to wash your hands of any responsibility in this?"

Matt looked between the two desperately, a subtle shiver running down his spine at the sight of Francis' triumphant grin at Arthur's accusation.

"Not in the least," he answered coolly. Arthur's eyes were trained on him in bewildered outrage. Francis placed a hand firmly on his shoulder, scratching at his stubble covered chin and looking at Arthur contemplatively. "He will return to me, one way or another. It's you I'm not so sure about."

Arthur was obviously disgusted. Scrunching his face up, he sharply jabbed Francis in the side with his left fist. Francis doubled over with little resistance, supporting himself on the wall and letting his ears inform him that the front door had indeed opened and closed once more.

"Are you okay?" Matt asked worriedly, looking quite ashen.

Francis smiled at him reassuringly. "Don't worry, it was a fairly weak hit considering what he can do. And I can't say it was entirely undeserved."

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" Matthew asked, his worry instantly placated and leaving him free to start making demands.

Francis sighed, figuring it was all going to come out eventually. "Hmm, yes. I suppose it would be best if I broke the news and not your brother at this point. He has no finesse or subtlety," he said mostly to himself. Then he nodded at nothing, reaffirming his decision.

"Come on, dear, I'll make you some cocoa and explain everything," Francis suggested gently, leading Matt by the hand into the kitchen and mentally rehearsing what he would say.

"Do you really think cocoa's appropriate right now?" Matt shyly protested, knowing that Francis wasn't really listening to him when he started getting everything out anyway.


	29. Chapter 29

The world was very still. Snow seemed to dampen any sounds of life and Alfred felt as if his breathing was obnoxiously loud when he finally slowed down. As soon as he had left the house he unthinkingly broke out into a run and didn't stop until everything familiar was out of sight. Looking around, he found himself alone as rows of houses, empty for the day, faced him. He came to a halt in front of a blue one story with a window so big and lacking in proper curtains that Alfred could make out the minimalist living room inside.

Looking at the cold room without really seeing, he caught his breath and turned his attention to the rest of the street to figure out where he next wanted to go. He stood there, turning his head left and right a few times and coming to the sudden realization that he had no idea where the hell he was.

"I will never hear the end of this," he muttered to himself, taking out his phone and fiddling with it before deciding that calling Francis could wait at least a few more minutes. He quickly crossed the street and figured he'd walk to the end of the block and if he didn't recognize anything then he'd meander the other way. He did just so, and when he unsurprisingly didn't see anything he thought he had passed by earlier he turned on his heel. He came to about the same length down the sidewalk as where he had stopped the first time when he heard the low rumble of a car break the snowy silence just as a few fluffy snowflakes started to fall from the sky again. He then blinked rapidly as the headlights from said car swept past his vision, causing spots to explode before him and he had to find support with a fence post to get steady from the surprise.

The street becoming clear again, Alfred took a step to flag down the car and ask for directions before he squinted and recognized the vehicle. With a puffy white huff, he started walking again at a more brisk pace, not even slowing down when the car started to plug along beside him and the groan of a window being rolled down was heard.

"Alfred, get in the car," Arthur's voice snapped from the driver's seat.  
"How 'bout I don't do that and you just keep driving?" He shot back coolly, still walking.

Alfred could practically hear the stormy expression that was certainly twisting up on Arthur's face. He watched the car speed up a bit and pull up to the curb, the engine abruptly dying before Arthur got out and closed the door with a definitive bang.

"Where do you even think you're going?" He demanded, stomping after Alfred, who had stomped past him.

"Away," he snapped back over his shoulder. Just as he suspected, things would only get worse the longer they faced each other.

Arthur made a frustrated growling noise, jogging and catching Alfred's arm. Alfred tugged at it stubbornly, refusing to take his hands out of his pockets and trying to keep moving forward with as much strength he could muster.

"Would-would you-Oh, for heaven's sake! Stop-stop!" Arthur yelped, getting dragged along the slick sidewalk thanks to the lack of decent tread in his black balmorals. They had probably been ruined at that point by the sleet already and needed to be thrown out when he went home again.

"Why?" Alfred asked, turning around and ending up doing as Arthur told him after all, "All we're going to do is argue."

"Well, for one, you don't know this neighborhood and would get lost and end up catching pneumonia or something equally ridiculous," Arthur answered sharply, and Alfred slightly winced at being pegged so easily, "And two, we need to talk. Or argue. We can't let another misunderstanding simmer between us for six more years."

Alfred deflated, one arm falling to his side while the other was kept suspended by Arthur's grip. What else could he do?

"Alright," he said softly. Arthur nodded, still looking grim, and went back to the car, unlocking it for Alfred.

As Alfred slid in the passenger seat, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the side mirror and saw how pink his cheeks and nose had gone and found that he was a little grateful that Arthur had dragged him into the car despite his stubbornness. Arthur clicked on his seatbelt, but made no move to start driving, simply holding a hand over the heater vent that was pouring out a pathetic amount of warm air. They sat like that in silence for quite awhile, and Alfred was unwillingly reminded of some 80s teen movie.

"So how did the frog talk you into it?"

Well that was abrupt. At least Alfred knew what Arthur meant by 'it.'

"I'm the one that-" he stumbled over his words, trying to get them all out and explain, "I'm the one that wanted this. Francis didn't convince me to do anything; it was the other way around."

Arthur shook his head, and Alfred felt his anger start to come to a boil at the suspicion that Arthur was about to treat him like some poor, stupid lost soul.

"He basically left town when I tried to- If… If anyone forced someone's hand, it was me. I'm serious. So please don't be mad at Francis is what I'm saying… I guess?"

Arthur's frown didn't convey displeasure as much as it displayed his bafflement at what Alfred had said. Alfred slouched in his seat and with embarrassment that doused his anger he let his hands half heartedly playing with some frayed ends of fabric on his coat liner.

"What is it about him that these types of things keep happening to me?" Arthur turned his head and asked steering wheel more than he asked Alfred.

"Do you really want to hear me moon about Francis?" Alfred inquired anyway, unable to resist the barb.

"I'm-I'm just trying to understand," Arthur answered softly, looking for consolation with whatever view he saw out of the windshield. "Francis said that no matter how this turns out, you'd still go back to him." His bushy eyebrows made his upset expression more extreme than it would have been on any other face as he sighed heavily and ran a thumb consolingly along the dash. "I should have known better, really. He was always more gentle than me, and a far better cook. You left to live with him to be happier." His last line was almost drowned by the various noises of the car, it was spoken so softly.

"It's not what you think," Alfred said, finally starting to catch on. Seemed like Arthur's reservations were the same as what Francis' had been, just from another perspective. What was with everyone thinking he had a father complex?

"What do I think?" His question seemed genuine, even if his eyes were still focused elsewhere.

"I'm not choosing Francis over you. Not like that."

"Then how?"

"I'm in love with him. Romantic love, not family love."

"Do you have any idea how that sounds?" Arthur's voice was calm, as if Alfred had just confessed to liking chocolate and radishes together.

"I'm going to take a wild guess and say you think it's ridiculous."

Arthur' shoulders slumped and he rolled his eyes at Alfred's response.

"I suppose he's told you he loves you back?" The disbelieving scoff would not be muffled, saturating Arthur's voice and causing Alfred to fantasize about making yet another dramatic exit.

The thing that kept him rooted to his spot was that Arthur brought up an interesting point. Alfred realized that Francis never said the three little words like he had. Oddly enough, it was actually comforting, knowing that he was waiting for Francis to be ready just as much as Francis was waiting for him.

"No, he hasn't. We've only just started dating, it's too early in the relationship for that."

"I suppose you fancy yourself a therapist now?" Arthur could never pass up the chance to use his well worn sarcastic tone. Alfred felt the irony that Arthur seemed unaware of, considering what he had been accused of just moments ago.

Undeterred, Alfred went on with an amount of conviction that made him pleasantly surprised, "He doesn't need to tell me, I can feel it." Arthur looked slightly queasy, but Alfred went on, "I don't really care how unrealistic or naïve this sounds to you, and Francis spelled it out too. Our relationship doesn't have anything to do with this or us, or whatever, and we're going to be together no matter if you and me manage to patch things up or really never see each other again."

The lost and befuddled look on Arthur's face made him seem both very young as well as very old, like every second of the life he had lived was being felt simultaneously.

"Your mother-" Arthur started, but quickly interrupted himself like he thought better of what he was about to say.

"What about my mother?" Alfred asked both dubiously and challengingly.

Arthur directed a sad, defeated look at his lap. Sighing, he glanced at his fuel gage and then at his wristwatch. "We should go back, and you and Francis should just go home or something. I don't have any energy left for that type conversation today."

Alfred appreciated the honesty and nodded, putting his own seatbelt on just as Arthur pulled away from the curb and made a U-turn down the street.

They still had a long way to go, but where they were just then was fine for the both of them, it seemed.


	30. Chapter 30

As soon as the door clicked softly behind them, Francis appeared back in the hallway. He looked searchingly between both Arthur and Alfred. Alfred offered him a nervous twitch of a smile, while Arthur walked past and up the stairs without sparing anyone a glance. Rolling his eyes after the close of another door echoed down the stairs, Francis sighed and approached Alfred. He set his palm against his upper arm, rubbing his thumb back and forth across the slick fabric of Alfred's winter coat. He parted his lips, something Alfred's eyes immediately snapped to, about to say something when the light tread of footsteps from the kitchen interrupted.

Alfred and Francis both looked over at Matthew, too tired to drum up any response to his arrival. He was frowning, not uncommon with him, but there was a troubled unevenness to it as he looked at them both standing together, his hands clutching tightly at the hem of his shirt and visibly clenching his jaw. At first, Alfred thought his fight with Arthur was what had drained the little color he had from his face, and why he seemed so jittery now that they were back in the house. But when his eyes roved over to where Francis' hand was touching his arm, and how they briefly widened before he swiftly moved them away to look over Alfred's shoulder, Alfred understood.

"Arthur said we should go home for the day. We'll-we'll…" Alfred couldn't say the words. He couldn't force himself to make a promise that might not be kept again. This was it. His brother and he were done for good.

"We'll talk later, yeah," Matthew finished for him, still seeming troubled but offering Alfred a nod of reassurance that meant the world to him. Alfred nodded back, giving a weak but genuine smile.

"Mind if I use the phone to call a cab?" He asked, looking at Francis and wondering why the Frenchman was being so tense and still.

"Oh yeah, in the kitchen. I'm going to go get some sleep so, um, see ya," Matthew said, jabbing a thumb in the direction behind him and swinging around the banister before disappearing upstairs. Now alone, Alfred looked over at Francis hesitantly, who didn't seem very eager to say anything. He ducked into the kitchen, Francis following with his body curled in on itself, watching but not seeing as Alfred poured over a slightly outdated phone book for a cab service.

The wait dragged minutes into feeling like hours, both of them hovering silently in the front hall and peering out the window at random. At one point Alfred had put a hesitant arm over Francis' shoulder, pulling him into his side as they waited, to which Francis rested his head on his shoulder but didn't relax. Finally, a bright yellow car had pulled up to the curb, Alfred and Francis leaving the house as quietly as they could. They slid into the back seat, the cab driver giving them a cheery greeting. Francis quietly murmured his address, throwing himself heavily back into the seat when he was done.

"I told Mathieu." Francis stated as soon as the cab lurched forward and started trundling down the road.

"I know. I could see it in his face," he responded tartly, not in the mood to keep the events of the past few hours fresh on the way home.

"I don't think he'll-"

"It is what it is," Alfred snapped, growing irritated.

"He was surprised, but I think a part of him knew," Francis went on anyway, biting at his knuckle, a gesture Alfred didn't see used often when Francis wasn't being melodramatic.

"Francis, please don't explain. It's fine," he said more warmly, realizing he had underestimated how upset he was by whatever transpired between him and Matthew. Alfred wondered if it was like having to tell a kid that grandma wasn't sleeping. Except instead of a dead grandmother, the news was that after disappearing for six years the kid's twin brother was in a romantic relationship with a man that had partly raised him.

"He-he didn't say anything at first. Maybe I was wrong to think he could handle the news?"

"Like you said, he was surprised. Between his surgery and my fight with Arthur, having that dropped on his head shouldn't go well. It's not like we weren't expecting this." Alfred was about to reach for Francis' hand, but caught how the driver was leaning forward a little too much. Figuring the man was eaves dropping and glancing at them in the mirror, he opted to rub Francis' shoulder for a bit before awkwardly bringing his hand back to his lap.

"When did you get so mature?" Francis asked with a hollow laugh, crossing his arms tightly around his torso and sitting close to the door. Alfred decided he didn't like Francis distancing himself from him, turning over ideas of what he should do when they reached the apartment.

When they got there they found Maelys had stepped out for the night, and for that Alfred was grateful.

"I found out about your mother," he said tonelessly as soon as they were inside, drinking in the shocked look on Francis' face. He leaned back against the front door, head tilted slightly back to rest against the wood as he looked at Francis' panicked expression at an angle. Then, a queer emotion over came him and he started to chuckle. Seeing Francis' brow crease with confusion and worry, his chuckle turned into a full blown laugh. Sliding down, he sat on the floor, laughing long and hard and barely managing to breathe between fits. Francis was staring at him like the poor girls from horror movies would stare at the creature after it revealed itself, a classic 'dear in the headlights' look.

He waved Francis to come closer, getting more insistent the longer Francis hesitated. Once Francis was standing right before him, he seized his hand like he wanted to in the cab and tugged at him to sit. Complying, the older man sat cross legged in front of him, waiting as Alfred took the lead.

"Maelys told me. Well, actually she thought I already knew," Alfred answered the question Francis was never going to ask, completely composed once he was done speaking.

Francis deflated, shoulders rounding over and idly playing with Alfred's fingers in their entwined hands. "I never found a good opportunity to tell you."

"I'm not upset, and I don't want to talk about it right now," Alfred admitted bluntly, shifting himself so they were sitting closer, "I just wanted to let you know I knew. I don't think us, as a couple, could have handled me saying something later."

"You really think so?" Francis finally said, tucking a soft lock of hair behind his ear that caused Alfred to admire the lovely length of skin stretched across his neck that had been revealed to him.

"Well, no, but it's all out now," Alfred shrugged, and Francis jerked his head back at the sudden response before letting loose a soft laugh.

Grinning with satisfaction, Alfred leaned in and kissed him reverently, nudging his nose against Francis' and clinging onto his arms for dear life. He said his name repeatedly, lightly kissing from the crook of his jaw to his lips and back the other way. He trailed his hands inside Francis' coat and down his sides, pressing his thumbs into the junction of his hips just above where the thigh connected. Refusing to pull away, Alfred moved up onto his knees and crawled forward. Francis was leaning back on his arms, trying to keep his balance as Alfred loomed over him and licked into his mouth.

Bringing up a hand, Francis gently pressed his thumb into Alfred's jaw to push him away. Alfred slightly pulled back at the urging, taking a hold of Francis' fingers without a second thought.

"Alfred, do you really think we should do this now?" He didn't sound unwilling.

Alfred could see why Francis had reservations. They were both emotionally exhausted and they weren't treading lightly, but Alfred wanted this. He needed it.

"The only thing I want to think about right now is how much I love you."

Francis looked both shocked and guilty, blinking rapidly as if he were just told the greatest good news he never wanted to hear.

"I…" he started, clearly at a loss for words. Even though Alfred had admitted his feelings before, this time seemed to have struck him quite deeply.

"I'm not expecting you to say it back. Just…" He took a deep breath, glancing down at their joined hands before looking back up with as much meaning he could muster, "Don't let all this drama be the end of us, please. We've-we've had a hell of a start, so far, but if we're honest from now on, I think we'll be okay."

"Some people would call that naïve."

"So long as it's not you, I don't care."

"Bullheaded," Francis snorted, diving in for a kiss and speaking against his lips, "No forethought whatsoever…" Alfred made no comment in his defense, simply grinning and appreciating the feel of their mouths melded together again.

He faintly noted Francis taking his forearms into a strong grip, urging them up. Too lost to move on his own, he allowed Francis to wriggle his way out from underneath and pull him to his feet. He was guided clumsily down the hall, insistently and annoyingly refusing to let Francis get more than half a step away from him. Francis took his clinginess in stride, laughing into his chin and ear in turns as he groped blindly for the door knob. They struggled at the door for a while, both refusing to cease their attentions to each other to bother figuring out how to open it up. Alfred had the stray thought that up against a wall would be a little much for his inexperience, so he blindly felt for the knob as well, finding it more easily due to his positioning and wrestling them both inside.

Francis, in a fit of aggressiveness, pushed him away forcefully and Alfred fell back on the bed with a bounce, hands wrapping around Francis' waist once he joined him and everything becoming unbearably hot in all the clothes they were still in. Francis lightly batted his hands away, sitting up and tossing his jacket aside and reaching over Alfred to rummage through his nightstand drawer with eyes dilated wide and panting raggedly. Alfred tried to laugh, but found he was out of breath as well and only managed a few loud gasps of air. Scraping his finger nails on top of Francis' shirt, he fumbled with the older man's belt buckle just as there was a soft 'ah-ha' and when Francis found what he was looking for.

Alfred was allowed a short moment to appreciate how his impulsiveness had done nothing but get him into to trouble. But, lying back and glancing up at the shafts of light filtering through the curtains, he couldn't dredge up a single ounce of regret once his vision was obscured by Francis' face again.


	31. Chapter 31

There was a loud banging on the door that interrupted Alfred's dream about a horse with a sunflower for a face. Pushing himself up on his forearms, he rolled off his stomach and sat up on the bed. Kneading roughly at his eyes, he looked over at Francis' still face in the dark, who surprisingly seemed dead to the world and undisturbed by the noise. As quietly as possible, Alfred stood up from the bed with a soft creak and blindly hunted about the room. Finally finding his underwear and pants, he sleepily drew them up his legs with all the grace of a zombie and wandered toward the front door.

He had just reached his intended destination when his still tired mind slowly made the observation that people have to be rung into the building, and it must have been the middle of the night at that point.

"Probably just a neighbor," he said to the empty living room, about to undo the chain when the knocking jarred at his sleepy paranoia. The pattern was off, and the person ( _Vampire-zombie_ , another part of him decided.) on the other side hadn't grown impatient even though he was taking forever to answer. The slow, steady knock rapped past Alfred's ears and into the rest of the room in an eerie way that was only rivaled by horror movies. Quietly tiptoeing to the kitchen and ignoring how the shadows seemed to move and grow out of the corners of his eyes, he picked up the handle to a small broom that barley reached his mid thigh in height.

Reapproaching the door with the broom in hand, he tried to contort himself in a way where he could reach toward the knob while distancing the rest of his body, and had little success. Taking a deep breath, he turned the knob and quickly swung the door in, slicing the broom up to reach out in front of him like he was holding a sword.

"Really?" Matthew's toneless voice asked, looking so unamused that Alfred thought that his twin had surpassed Arthur in one mannerism at least.

"Dude what- how did you- What time is it?" Alfred sputtered, lowering his makeshift weapon a little in surprise.

"It's 12:15 if my watch isn't off, and why are you shirtless? - Never mind, I don't want to know," Matt answered, sounding sleepy and briefly glancing at his watch's face to make sure he was right. They both stood on each side of the doorway, looking at each other and not moving. Matthew held himself like a dignified statue, his skin even looking like marble in the gloom.

"Are you going to invite me in? The hall's kinda cold," Matt spoke again, face without much in the way of an expression.

"Oh, yeah, duh. Um, come right on in." Alfred hastily backed up right into the door, flinching at the impact and gracelessly flailing an arm to gesture his brother inside. Matt coolly entered, and Alfred had half a mind to offer him some tea and an argument about inheriting the business firm.

Matt deftly unbuttoned his thick coat and whipped the knitted cap from his head, throwing one over a chair and the other on the table before seating himself in the dark. Alfred followed after, precariously balancing the broom against the counter and flipping the switch to the hanging lamp over the dining table.

As soon as Alfred's eyes adjusted, he saw Matt staring at him with his face contemplative and a storm of conflict in his eyes that made the color look unnatural.

"After thinking things over, I decided against waiting to talk to you later after all," Matt spoke first, sighing and scratching at a spot under the temple of his roundish glasses.

"So you decided to sneak out in the middle of the night? You didn't walk here did you?" Alfred sunk into the chair right next to him, keeping an arm propped on the top of the back and balancing himself against the table edge with the other.

"Don't be daft, I borrowed Da-Arthur's car," Matt snapped, face crumpling into a troubled expression.

"Yeah, that sounds waaaay better," Alfred responded with a laugh, diverting his gaze to the glare of the light bulb on the shiny wooden surface.

"I'm sure he'd prefer his car to me taking the bus or something," Matt parried, shrugging and ending their little debate even though Alfred could have brought up that he wasn't allowed to have a license due to his fainting fits.

"Okay." Alfred shifted uncomfortably in the hard wood seat, looking nervously at his brother and not sure if he should ask what was so important that he had to rush over to Francis' apartment in the middle of the night after just recovering from surgery.

"I… I need to hear it from you," Matt supplied for him, sucking both of his lips in between his teeth.

"You just got out of the hospital, is this really okay?" Alfred held his hand out and started positioning them around Matt, ready to catch him if he randomly fell over or if he spontaneously combusted he could do something useful, his ideas seeming completely logical as his body still tried to wake up.

"I'm already here, Al. So pony up, and stop that," Matt refuted with a sigh, looking at Alfred's arms as if they were new and strange as they moved around uselessly.

Alfred let his hands drop like bricks and looked at his brother helplessly, their eyes meeting in inescapable exactness.

"You want to hear…" Alfred started, and Matt leaned forward, giving Alfred a look that dared him not to finish. "You want me to say that I'm in a relationship with Francis."

"Yeah… This was sort of stupid now that it's all said and done," Matt retracted shyly, grabbing at his cap and stretching a portion of the hem.

"No, it's not dumb. I should've told you. We both should have. It just didn't all come out the way we wanted, is all." They both exchanged brief, nervous smiles before the distant sounds of movement caught their attention.

"Alfred, what are you- _merde!_ " Alfred had the briefest moment to see Francis come out into the hall as naked as the day he was born before making a dive back in his room. Staring in befuddled amusement for a moment, he glanced back over to see his brother with his eyes widened rounder and larger than a squid's.

"He sleeps naked. You know that," Alfred tried to diffuse the situation, giving an exaggerated shrug and going as red as a brick despite his attempts to act nonplused.

"Not when I was living with him," Matt said, shaking his head and frowning.

Alfred barely avoided snorting at the remark. Francis would try to keep a level of decorum around Matthew, wouldn't he?

Whatever progress they had made was quickly buried under one trying to avoid eye contact with the other as Francis desperately dressed not-so-quietly.

The Frenchman finally reappeared after a few incoherent curses and a loud thump that made both Alfred and Matt exchange looks of worry. He stumbled out of his room and swaggered toward them in a pair of sweats and a shirt that Alfred noticed were both his.

"Geeze, I thought you wouldn't wake up 'til it was summer again," Alfred muttered to Francis as he slid into the seat across from them.

"I'm not as young as I used to be," Francis muttered quietly, his pale face going slightly pink around his nose and ears. Alfred wanted nothing more than to tease him, but his brother was sitting with them and they all had fulfilled their awkward quotient for the day.

"Mon chat," Francis suddenly exclaimed, immediately diverting his attention to Matthew, "What in the world possessed you to come here right now?"

"I…" Matt trailed off, looking over at Francis helplessly as his fingers were about to completely unravel his cap at that point as they were working so furiously. "I'm not really proud of the way I acted in the kitchen. I mean, I should have…" He couldn't finished, the hidden anger that hardened his expression looking out of place until Alfred realized that Matt was angry with himself and not them.

"Dear, you didn't do anything-"

"I guess, what I really wanted to say, to both of you- in person, was that I'm okay with it- you two dating, I mean," he quickly interjected, his voice going an octave too high at the end, "I was surprised, and I'm sorry I didn't act as accepting as I should, just that it was a lot to take in. So, I'm sorry…A-again." Alfred was relieved for the hat when his brother set it back down, some of the threads looking stretched beyond repair.

Francis, meanwhile, didn't smile, but the look of quiet hope on his face was enough to break Alfred's heart.

"I'm sorry too," the older man said, bringing a hand up to his chin and scratching at it, "None of us were at our best today. Well, I suppose it was yesterday."

Matt broke out into grin, and Alfred thought he was being a bit presumptuous until he spotted the twinkle of delight in Francis' eye. Then, the Frenchman finally allowed his normal easy grin to break across his face, and Alfred felt a smile coming on too.

"Not to interrupt this touching moment, but there are other people here trying to sleep," said a deep, soft voice that both soothed and intimidated in the sleepy roughness with which it spoke.

Three sets of eyes snapped to an athletic young woman with mussed, long brown hair and tan skin that contrasted well with the blue pajamas she was wearing as she stood in the hall outside of Maelys's room. Alfred noted that she had a very pretty round face, and impossibly dark eyes that acted like magnets to his vision as she glared at them with the grumpiness of a wet cat.

No one said anything, and no one ended up having to as Maelys popped her head out of her newly opened doorway with her own dirty blonde hair falling freely over her shoulders. Adjusting her glasses and blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she smiled in indulgent exhaustion as she stepped next to the young woman and brushed absently at her pink nightgown.

"Don't mind her, boys. She's not a morning person. Is everything alright out here?" Maelys asked, her smile widening in pleasant surprise as she properly made out Matt's face in the half-light casted on him.

"We're fine, thank you, simply entertaining an unexpected guest," Francis called, waving at them.

The pretty stranger pulled an offended frown, before bluntly speaking, "Keep it down."

"Ah, it's always nice to see you Anne, looking as lovely as usual. Goodnight, dear," Francis ended with a nod to Maelys and not 'Anne,' seeing as she had turned right back into their room as soon as Francis spoke to her.

"Do try not to push yourselves too hard," Maelys offered, giving them her own well wishes and promptly following the other woman.

"They're…" Alfred began once the door had closed again, but Francis and Matthew both looked at him sharply at the same time and he quickly moved into word gymnastics, "…Probably not going to put up with us too much longer. We should call it a night?"

Matthew nodded, reaching into his pocket to the chorus of clattering keys when Francis interrupted. "You're not going anywhere. Not this time of night. Alfred, go fetch the duvet and pillows from the hall closet. I'm calling Arthur and telling him where you are, and we'll both be returning the car first thing in the morning."  
Matthew blanched, but responded with helpless ascent. Francis leveled him a severe, yet protective glare before he was off to his room again.

Alfred did as he was told, opting to grab the thick comforter kind of thing he saw instead of keep searching for the mystery 'duvet.' Walking back over to his brother, who was sitting worriedly on the couch, he unceremoniously dumped the contents onto his head. Matt flailed for a bit, fighting his way through the blankets to where his head was poking out from underneath and blowing Alfred a childish raspberry. Alfred immediately let out a loud laugh that had Anne marching out of Maelys's room again in a righteous mood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anne is supposed to be Seychelles. =)


	32. Chapter 32

A persistent clicking invaded Matt's sleep. His brain started to rouse, his ears aware of yet another click and his body going a little cold. Blinking his eyes open, he blearily stared straight ahead to see a strange creature with a yellow crown and a black mask that only covered the top half of its face looking down at him. Not freshly awake enough to panic, Matt felt for his glasses sitting on the side table above his head and put them on, only to have Alfred's face with a camera in front of it come into sharp focus.

"Can I help you?" Matt asked, sitting up on the couch and keeping the blankets over his legs due to the living room having succumbed to the winter chill outside.

"Revenge," his brother said blithely, snapping another photo.

"Revenge?" Matt repeated, trying to right his hair that he just knew had gone wild from tossing in his sleep.

"You woke me up last night, so I'm waking you up," Alfred chirped, bringing down the camera and smiling far too brightly for the morning, "I think I'll call this new collection, 'The Madman at Rest." Alfred reached out and playfully tugged at a long curl at the front of Matt's hairline.

"You're a regular poet."

"I'm surprised you didn't wake up when Francis first started cooking." Alfred ignored Matt's remark, sitting down next to his brother. Matt started sniffing the air at the remark, picking up the distinct smell of the stove and something being cooked on it.

"Bonjour!" Francis called when he noticed Matt looking over at him, flicking his wrist and flipping the contents of his pan without the aid of a spatula. Seeing the way Alfred gawked, Matt decided the older man was trying to show off, and that it was going to be a long day ahead of him.

"Will your roommate and Anne not be joining us?" Matt asked, following Alfred as he led the way to the table, shyly sitting down when he noticed that the places had already been set.

Alfred concentrated on fiddling with his camera across from him as Francis bustled over and plopped a still warm pair of pancakes on the plate in front of him with a warm smile and an off handed answer, "They both have work, and Anne had to leave a little early to give Arthur a lift. He is missing a car after all." Matthew was properly cowed and went about poking at his food with a fork.

"What is she, his secretary?" Alfred asked with his usual subpar sarcasm, setting his camera aside as Francis approached him with food as well.

"As a matter of fact, yes," Francis answered, and Matthew was reminded way too much of some cliché scene from a 50s sitcom.

"Pancakes are gross," Alfred announced without any venom when he looked down at his plate, the admittance worth the utterly offended look that slapped across Matt's face.

"Dear heart, don't be ungrateful," Francis admonished lightly, taking a hearty bite of his own meal when he joined them at the table.

"Dear heart?" Alfred inquired disbelievingly.

"Pearl of my eye?"

"Keep trying."

"Fred?"

"Call me that again and we're breaking up."

"Well, I have to call you something…"

"Well, _Frank_ , you keep coming up with bad pet names."

Francis looked miffed before an overly satisfied smirk quickly slipped onto his lips. Matt vaguely recognized the smile as the one Francis usually got when he was pleased with how a conversation went, so he was confused to see it then.

"Sugar," Francis said with unsettling finality, a twinkle in his eye when Alfred looked like he was about to keel over.

"No." Alfred spoke with such horror that Matt would have thought he had just witnessed a murder.

Francis started to chortle smugly, and Matt felt it was time to intervene. "You guys realize I'm still here, right?"

"Don't be silly, dear. Now finish your breakfast, we're dropping the car off at the office in a few hours."  
Matt's look quickly mirrored Alfred's.

They demolished the rest of their food in silence, Alfred deciding to set the syrup further away each time Matt used it and Matt not so accidently kicking Alfred in the ankle in retaliation. Francis, having only seen Alfred's antics, forced him to wash up all the dishes with teasing pokes in his sides and generally being domestic when they were all making their way to the car far too quickly for Matt's taste. He watched his brother playfully bound forward in the snow, making his way to Arthur's car and reaching for the passenger door handle when Francis gently grabbed him on the shoulder.

"Uh-uh, don't be rude, you should let the guest sit in the front," Francis intervened, taking far too much amusement in clicking his tongue and wagging his finger.

"It's Arthur's car, so wouldn't I technically be the guest?" Alfred whined, going to the back seat anyway after giving his brother a stiff and mocking bow. Matthew merely rolled his eyes, taking his seat with little pity as Alfred stuffed his long legs into the space behind him.

Francis soon slid into the driver's seat, turning back briefly to give Alfred a little smirk to which he answered with a displeased glare. Still smiling, Francis started the car and pulled off into the road, blasting the heater onto the windshield to ward off the foggy moisture building on it.

"So you know Anne?" Alfred suddenly asked when he caught Matt looking at him in the side mirror.

"Um, sort of. I've only met her once before at the office Christmas party," Matt whispered, refusing to look away from the window when he answered. Alfred didn't bother to try and make small talk with him again the rest of the way, instead he insistently reigned in Francis' attention when he got the opportunity.

Eventually, even Alfred ran out of innocuous conversation topics, but only just in time for them to have reached their destination. Looking out, he found the building wasn't what he had expected. In his mind, Arthur worked in a sparkling, towering behemoth of windows stacked in open defiance of gravity and the small puny below. A silly thought, he had to admit, when the old building Arthur worked at was an unimpressive grey block of pitiful squares to look out of to compliment the barren hallways. There were more floors to the current one though, adding up to a whopping four stories total. Unfortunately, what the cube of dusty red cement lacked in height was hardly made up for in width, and Alfred found himself disappointed despite how silly the feeling was.

When Francis pulled up to a makeshift parking spot a little to the side of the building, Alfred didn't think twice about stepping out. Looking behind him, he noticed his brother looking in confusion at the door handle he was pulling fruitlessly at and then to Francis, who was wearing the owlish expression of someone who was committing a crime for the first time.

Alfred only took half a second to understand what the Frenchman was up to.

"Oh, you ass-" Alfred didn't get to finish his insult, the roar of the engine as the car pulled away drowning out his voice as it made quick progress down the freshly cleared street.

"Worst boyfriend ever," he muttered darkly, promptly heading inside instead of opting to freeze, no matter how much he wanted to pout.

The lobby was shiny, but boring, and he didn't pay much attention to his surroundings due to his anger when he strode up to the directory listing names and offices by the elevator.

"Excuse me, you can't- Oh, it's you, dear! Go right on up; he just got out of a meeting."

Alfred blinked over at the jolly secretary, a middle-aged woman giving him a saccharinely sweet grin. He stood in confusion for a moment, taking the time to process just what she was talking about when he realized she thought he was his brother.

Scrunching his face up in further displeasure, Alfred was about to correct her when she simply waved him off and answered the ringing phone at her desk.

Grumpily jabbing the up button on the elevator, he gave the lobby one last stormy look and hit the number to the floor that had Arthur's name next to it on the list of offices. Really, he and his twin had been mixed up before, but he had never been mistaken for Matthew. It had always been the other way around. Maybe he'd get a piercing or something so that wasn't a problem in the future.

He was just deciding on an overly rebellious chain to link between his ear and nose when a polite ding signaled he had made it to the floor he needed. The doors opened up to reveal a bland maze of cubicles filled with the soft buzz of computers and the subtle scent of newness that well cared for facilities always had. He walked straight down the hall before him unheeded, stopping in front of the door at the end with 'Kirkland' labeled next to it.

"Just what-oh, it's you," a female voice called at him once again, causing him to turn and see none other than Anne frowning at him.

Alfred took a moment to genuinely appreciate how good she looked in a blue suit.

"Quit gawking and tell me what you're doing here," she snapped impatiently when his eyes traveled up her sleeve.

"Is Arthur in?"

"Considering I had to get up extra early and drive him to work, I should hope so."

"Surprised he didn't ask you to bring Matthew with."

Anne's face grew stricken as she absently lifted a hand to play with the hair at the nape of her neck.

"I'm sure he thought I was at home… Anyway, just-just don't be disruptive," she ordered, clicking down the hallway in her heels faster than Alfred could blink.

Shaking his head, Alfred didn't bother to knock. Instead he turned the handle as quietly as he could, slipping into the office with little fanfare. The room was far more pleasing to the eyes than what Alfred had seen up to that point. The furniture was either polished wood, or fake wood in good light, and a spindly green palm tree gently swayed under the air conditioning in the corner. Alfred made a point of ignoring the pictures on the wall, staring directly ahead at the man whose back was angled against him as he chatted away on the phone.

"It seems Ilene is either behind on her reporting, or she's not doing her job… Yes, please do. No, that won't be necessary, I just need the numbers. Thank you, you too."

Arthur firmly set the phone back in its bed, exhaling heavily before looking up and minutely twitching in surprise at the sight of Alfred. He briefly looked over Alfred's shoulder, and when he found nothing he laced his fingers together and spoke. "Where are Francis and Matthew?"

Alfred suddenly found himself highly amused. "I think we've both been tricked."

Arthur's scowl was a sight to behold. He hastily motioned for Alfred to sit, which was quickly obeyed, before snatching the phone back up. He dialed in what must have been Francis' number, who didn't seem keen on answering if the deepening frown with each passing moment meant anything. He finally hung up, appraising the office window for a moment before giving Alfred his full attention.

"It's been quite the week," he commented dryly, adjusting his cufflings.

"From the sounds of it yeah. I guess you're not a numbers guy anymore?" Alfred asked, curious about what Arthur's job was now. He didn't know much to anything about accounting, but he never heard Arthur have to speak the way he did just previously on the phone before.

"I do auditing mostly. I'm sure my father would faint if he knew just how much control I signed over when the firm merged. But not too much is different from what I used to do, just who I deal with, really."

Alfred felt like Arthur was lying, or at least not telling the whole truth. Even at his worst on a day gone horribly wrong, he never looked so checked out and melancholy. Alfred even spotted the strain around the edges of Arthur's eyes and mouth that indicated he was holding back some level of discontent that he didn't want anyone to know about.

"How's that working out?" He couldn't help but ask, watching idly as Arthur evened out the stack of papers he had taken up and mechanically clipped them together.

"The car and house are paid off and I can afford Matthew's hospital bills," Arthur answered, and Alfred felt that it was the only satisfactory response. Alfred suspected that Matt was the only reason Arthur ever went through with merging his precious business, having fiercely protected it from such ventures for years before hand. Though not even Alfred was insensitive enough to ask if that was the case.

"Have you eaten?" Arthur asked without waiting for Alfred to say anything, getting up from his desk and striding over to a bag set on a chair by the wall and rummaging through and bringing for a plastic container with a clear top and black bottom.

"Yeah, just before I came," Alfred observed Arthur struggle the lid open to the colorful pile of vegetables and greens, crossing one leg over the other just as Arthur resumed his place at the desk. "Salad for breakfast?"

"Eating right is important at any age, but especially mine," he answered primly, collecting a few leaves on his fork.

"So your doctor warned you about your blood pressure again, then?"

Arthur stopped his food's progress right before his open mouth just long enough to shoot Alfred a wilting glare before taking a very purposeful bite.

"So… My mother," Alfred diverted in a bored, conversational tone, refusing to just waste his time watching Arthur eat.

"I beg your pardon?" Arthur asked with little apology in his voice, stabbing a piece of beet into a mandarin orange slice quite savagely.

"You were going to say something about my mother yesterday. What was it?"

"Do we really have to do this now?" Arthur asked in the same tired way he did during their conversation the day before.

"Francis has your car and every intention of locking us in a cell together if he has to, so I guess now is better than never."

Arthur shifted uncomfortably, tossing spinach leaves every which way as he considered Alfred's request.

"I didn't mean to bring her up."

"But you did."

"I- What I meant to say- She asked me to look after you boys." He set the fork down and pushed the bowl to the side, not looking very hungry anymore.

"Well, didn't you?"

"I'm sure not in the way she wanted."

Arthur looked so forlorn over his idea of failure that Alfred didn't have time to filter his next question.

"Were you in love with her?"

"No," Arthur answered sadly, clearly wishing for the situation to be so simple, "She was a distant relative that helped Francis and me out when we first immigrated."

"Explains why we got split up," Alfred mused out loud.

Arthur nodded grimly. "She saw the writing on the wall, and pushing two children on one man barely into adulthood probably seemed inconsiderate to her."

"You two were really all she had?" Alfred asked, despite having secretly made peace with what must have been the truth long ago. Other than his mother, it was just the old man on the property bordering theirs that would watch he and Matt every so often when she couldn't bring them with her places. He was kind, if distant, and Alfred felt guilty for not clearly remembering his name or face.

"I've had this conversation with your brother…" Arthur started, and Alfred took that as a 'yes' to his question.

"Your mother was… a lonely woman," Arthur danced around again.

"I'm guessing you're going to tell me my father's a mystery?" Alfred interrupted.

"Ah, well, I wouldn't put it so bluntly."

"I don't really care about him anyway," Alfred stated firmly so Arthur would just move on. His inner thoughts dared him to tell Arthur that he was more than enough of a dad in the end, but he knew neither one of them ever wanted him to just come out and say something like that. They weren't the type, and they were going to have to change their relationship from that day forward anyway.

"I actually didn't know her or you boys very well before she died. She was protective of you two and didn't like having you around practical strangers, family or no," Arthur continued, taking Alfred's hint, "You would never know she was having a rough time of things, though. She didn't think twice of loaning me out some money. I was furious to find out she almost lost the farm because of it, but she just blew me off when I brought it up."

Alfred was internally screaming for Arthur to just say, 'She lived a sad life, died a sad way, and it still bothers me.'

"Arthur, are you trying to make some weird apology to my dead mother or something?"

"I guess, I just wanted you to understand why we all ended up where we did. None of us had much of a choice, and it wasn't the best situation." Arthur spread he hands out before him beseechingly, and Alfred found that he too was more than ready to be done.

"It's fine. I mean, you did what you could and I've been and ungrateful ass, I'm sure. But you should just put everything behind you for good. Between us, I mean. And I will too."

Arthur leaned back in his chair, combing back the fringe that brushed at his forehead and causing his hair to look well groomed for once. "You're the spitting image of her sometimes, and Matthew others." Alfred was caught off guard by the non-response, but found it appropriate after mulling over the words for a long moment.

Though Alfred and Matt had practically been so alike in their lives that they might as well have been interchangeable (A fact they both still had to live with, if the lobby secretary was any indication), Alfred didn't find Arthur's random confession odd at all. He actually found that it made a relieving amount of sense, and he felt more content in Arthur's presence than he had since he was a little boy and thought the Brit was the most invincible person in the world.

Smiling and nodding minutely, he pointed at the phone. "Should we try Francis again?"

"Let's."


	33. Chapter 33

Alfred waved Anne goodbye after getting out of her car, watching the vehicle depart right after he had closed the door. Francis wisely decided to drop both Matthew and Arthur's car off at the house and pay Arthur back for his trouble at a later date when his temper had cooled from his little stunt. Arthur pulled no punches when he finally managed to get the Frenchman to pick up his phone again, expertly mixing their usual bickering with passive aggressive implications and outright threats. He eventually negotiated Anne into giving Alfred a ride to Francis' apartment, saying he'd give her the day off she had been begging for and that she no longer had to worry about him because he'd call a cab when it was his time to go home. Alfred stood back with a knowing smile as Arthur read out Francis' address to her and she squirmed uncomfortably as she pretended not know how to reach their destination.

Once they were in the car though, Anne put out such an icy aura that Alfred knew better than to tease her about her secret affair.

Shaking his head out of the recent memories, Alfred entered the stoop and hit the button by the printed type of 'Bonnefoy/Laurent.' No one said anything into the speaker, but the door clicked open and Alfred didn't waste any time shuffling inside and up the stairs to the surprisingly unlocked apartment door.

"Well, I hope you're proud of yourself," Alfred sighed, invoking the exasperated tone mother's used on cheesy sitcoms as he entered the living room and shook his head at Francis, who was laid out on the couch and suspending a news paper over his head to read.

"I am." Francis casually turned a page, frowning as he concentrated harder one the sentence he had just read without processing.

The answer would have pissed Alfred off normally, but he was in a generous mood and Francis' hair brained scheme ended up working despite everything.

"What would you have done if we walked away hating each other even worse?" He asked with little curiosity coloring his tone, swinging his legs over the couch and sitting on the arm while facing Francis.

"I'm sure I would have figured something out."

Alfred snorted at the distracted tone, busying himself with reading the cheesy article titles facing him. 'ONION FARMERS UPROOT' was his favorite so far.

"Well, it's all over now. So you can relax." He tapped at the knee Francis had propped up, leaning around the paper to try and meet his boyfriend's eye.

"If you say so…"  
"Seriously. It's not happy holding hands, singing Kumbayah, but we're better."

Francis tucked the top of the paper down quickly at Alfred's response, looking at him with an expression of someone caught in a tough decision.

"Alright. So long as you're both happy with it."

"I wouldn't say that, but we don't have anywhere to go but up and we're starting in that direction."

Francis finally closed the paper, bringing it down to his chest and considering the young man perched before him. He suddenly sat up in a languid movement that Alfred watched with undue fascination, and he was overcome with the urge to make a confession when his eyes darted back to the paper.

"So, um, I kinda maybe sorta read your magazines- the restaurant ones," Alfred quickly specified when he spotted Francis' frozen look of terror. The Frenchman relaxed again when he realized what Alfred was talking about.

"Oh, those. I don't mind," Francis answered, folding the paper neatly over his knee and looking off in the distance thoughtfully.

"But I went through your stuff… Y'know, without your permission?" Alfred tried to argue, getting irritated with Francis' lack of irritation. Maelys had spoken as if he had knocked over an urn when she had caught him in the act.

Francis only laughed, waving his hand in front of himself to try and calm Alfred's distressed expression. "Well, one day, my things and your things will be 'our' things," he explained with a shrug, "We're just starting to learn each other's boundaries, and I'm saying that looking through all that is okay. Thank you for telling me though?" Francis laughed again, barely having managed to make it through his spiel without busting out when Alfred just seemed defeated by the whole exchange. Alfred didn't even have the energy to bother bringing up that practically kidnapping his brother and forcing him to confront Arthur shouldn't be a boundary line that has to be outright stated. He was actually too busy fighting back the blush threatening to color his face the moment Francis said 'our things.'

"Then I guess it's okay to ask you who wrote the note?" He asked hesitantly, recalling the mysterious little pick-me-up scrawled haphazardly next to Francis' restaurant snippet and taking advantage of Francis' open mood.

Francis tipped his head in confusion at Alfred's question, hair flowing over his shoulder and catching a ridiculous amount of light that reminded Alfred of a breezy summer day in a wheat field.

"I guess I'll show you," Alfred muttered, taking up Francis' wrist and pulling him to his feet. Francis unresistingly followed Alfred on the familiar path to his room, watching in interest as Alfred bent down and slid out the magazine pile. Sitting back up, Alfred seemed content to stay on the floor, so Francis joined him with a private eye roll.

Alfred thumbed through a magazine with a picture of a breakfast kind of meal that Francis always felt looked strange. The food was roundishly-pyramidal and had different colored layers before being crowned by a sunny little egg yolk. Personally, he always found the older cooking journals and home magazines that he kept to be somewhat embarrassing, but in Alfred's hands he found them charmingly retro.

"Here we go," Alfred announced, handing the magazine over and tapping unnecessarily at the highlighted lettering and the circled note.

Francis looked down at the note, recognizing it just fine but having become suddenly confused. "Didn't you write it?" He asked sincerely, looking back up at Alfred who was watching with a light, goofy grin.

"Does that look like the handwriting of a seven year old?" Alfred drew his brows down in surprise at the sudden question, doing his math very roughly.

"You put a lot of effort into it?" Francis offered with a shrug.

"You would drop if you saw how bad I was at writing, even in the first grade."

"Hmm, maybe Matthew wrote it then?"

"As girly as that note looks, I don't think so."  
"The only reason I kept it was because I thought it was from you or your brother, mostly you. Well, now I have an excuse to finally throw this raggedy thing out. Really, all of them have been asking to be recycled for far too long." Francis did a good job of not letting his disappointment show.

"What? No way! Hold on." Francis leaned back against his bed with suffering patience as Alfred sprung to his feet and rushed out of the room. He had just crossed his arms and leaned his head back to where it was at an uncomfortable angle away from his body when Alfred returned, holding a pair of scissors with his fingers threaded through the grip.

"Those are used for cooking, and that's not how you should hold them when you walk," Francis told him nonchalantly, noting the thinness of the blades in conjunction with the unusually big handles and remembering he had left them on the counter the night before after cutting up some greens.

"I'll wash them after," Alfred offered, placing himself back on the floor and gently taking the magazine out of Francis' hands. Francis watched in amusement as Alfred clumsily cut out the little blurb and note together, his tongue sticking out ever so slightly as he tried to make the lines straight.

"There," Alfred said to himself with childish satisfaction, giving Francis a winning grin that infected the older man's system to where they both became smiling goofs.

Alfred set the scissors aside on the floor, rolling to his feet. Francis followed suit, exasperatedly picking up the scissors from the floor and holding them with the pointed end aimed at the floor and not his chest as he and Alfred retraced their steps to the main living area.

Alfred continued on to the kitchen, piquing Francis' curiosity as he watched the young man peel a plain magnet off of the refrigerator door and posting the note on with it.

"How very primary school," Francis commented, taking his place by Alfred's side and looking at his newly decorated fridge. The whole scene would have been adorably cliché had Alfred been fifteen years younger and not his boyfriend.

"Obviously it meant enough to you to bookmark, even if you were just keeping those rags for nostalgia or whatever," Alfred explained, either ignoring or not hearing Francis' comment, "It doesn't matter who wrote it, they're cheering you on and I think it'd be a nice reminder to keep around."

Francis' practically felt his heart melt as he observed the open expression of wonder and general contentment on Alfred's face as he stared proudly at the clipping. The smile he wore rounded out the sharp, masculine features he acquired through puberty, and Francis couldn't help but reach out and tug at his earlobe to get him to stop before he exploded from emotion.

Alfred rubbed at his ear ruefully, smile weakening with shyness as Francis turned back to the cut out on the fridge. Lost in thought, he was unaware of the strange face that he was making, causing Alfred to start to worry as his eyes began to glaze over. Alfred was just about to ask if the older man was okay when Francis gestured for him to stay put and took his own turn padding into his room.

Alfred leaned over the counter, setting his bony elbows to rest on it when Francis came striding back. The older man rounded his way back into the kitchen, slipping something flat and rectangular out from behind him and flourishing it at Alfred.

Alfred took the object mostly out of reflex, looking at his hands to see that it was one of the notebooks he saw Francis write in when they were stuck in the motel together.

"What's this for?" he asked, perplexed as Francis seemed to stare at him in anticipation.

"It's where I put my private thoughts most of the time. I had the method suggested to me by a friend after I heard the news about my mother, and it's been surprisingly helpful."

Alfred nervously opened to the first page and read the date, noticing that it was right around the time Francis would have been in France taking care of his family matters, again doing his math loosely.

"I'm not so sure about this," Alfred whispered, starting to close the notebook and looking up at Francis for some sort of answer to a question he didn't know how to ask.

"I…" Francis leaned forward and opened the notebook for him again. "I shouldn't have kept the whole business about my mother from you. I've kept quite a bit from you for as long as we've known each other, and I don't want to keep up the bad habit."

"This is a little much though, isn't it? I mean, we don't have to know everything, everything about each other."

"Only what we're both comfortable with, and I'm comfortable with this. The decision to know is up to you."

"I didn't think you were even the diary keeping type." The nature of the task of writing down emotions over a day's events seemed something more along the lines a young girl in a room with pink walls would do. Though Alfred knew the idea was unfair, he couldn't help but be amused with the picture of Francis having his hair pinned back with a butterfly clip, laying on his bed on his stomach and his legs kicked up while nibbling on a pen and blushing about a crush.

Francis gifted him a patient but shallow smile at the off remark, watching him and waiting with palpable anxiousness.

Alfred looked between him and the notebook for what felt like a thousand times before making his decision. Clasping the plastic cover so tightly in his hands his knuckles turned white, he gently but firmly pressed it into Francis' chest and waited as the older man slowly took it back.

"Thank you," he said, not sure how to explain his decision, "But, I don't think I want to read it. Just, I'm all ears if you want to talk or something, though, okay?"

Francis nodded and smiled, placing the notebook on the nearby counter and striding past Alfred to open the fridge.

"Alright, well you want something to eat? I haven't had anything yet, either, so there's…"

Alfred only half heartedly listened as Francis started rattling off all the things he could make for them, too caught up in the sudden gratitude he felt for being dragged out of state and ending up in a cozy little kitchen and watching his boyfriend ferret through the multiple shelves of a refrigerator like he was looking for buried treasure while elsewhere he had his family back in his life. He couldn't help but decide that their miserable trip turned out to be pretty damn good after all.


	34. Chapter 34

Alfred closed out of the window he was looking at on Maelys's laptop just as Francis walked in the door. The older man shuffled over to the counter that acted as a pseudo wall to the kitchen, setting down the cloth bag he was carrying with flimsy green leaves swaying with the slightest movement peaking out the top.

"Hey, welcome home," Alfred said, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head as he watched Francis start to unload groceries into the fridge. Once he was done, Francis walked over to the desk Alfred was sitting at with the laptop cramped against the edge next to the electric typewriter, looking warily between Alfred and the computer.

"What have you been up to?" he asked nonchalantly, staring pointedly at the eye catching desktop background of a field of tulips.

"Looking up ticket prices for a Greyhound back to Missouri," Alfred told him honestly, taking down his arms and looking up at Francis sheepishly. Francis stared at the computer for a few more moments before forcibly shifting his eyes to Alfred, flitting between his mouth and his hands restlessly.

"You don't have to do that I-"

"Yes I do," Alfred cut in, reaching out and taking Francis' unresisting hand from where it laid on top of the desk's edge and squeezing gently. "You're home again, and should stay here. Asking you to take me back to Missouri only to turn around is ridiculous. I'm the one that has to go. Besides, I have a job opportunity in a few weeks that I need to go back for."

Francis frowned, his upset expression strikingly handsome on his face at that moment.

"Stand up, please," Francis whispered. Alfred found he could exhale again. He did as he was told, walking around the desk to Francis, never letting go of his hand the entire time.

Francis pulled him further in, easing them both into a soft kiss before ducking his head to the side and resting his cheek on Alfred's shoulder. Instead of embracing him like his first instinct wanted, Alfred laced their fingers and gently rested his own head against Francis'.

"We're going to have to have a serious talk about living arrangements once you graduate." Francis' voice cracked, making him sound oddly young and very pouty.

"I know," Alfred responded with amused patience.

"And you going back to Missouri doesn't mean you get to ignore everyone again." Francis punctuated his statement with a tight squeeze.

"I know. I'm not going to, and I don't want to." Alfred took to playing with a silky lock of hair that waved a bit more than the rest.

Francis lifted his head back up, their gazes meeting through the glare on Alfred's glasses from the light coming out of the window next to them.

"I'm going to call you every day."

"That's a little much."

"I mean it. We'll at least text message."

"If you can figure it out, yeah sure."

Francis didn't laugh at Alfred's little joke, instead he looked grim and ran a thumb along Alfred's wrist.

"How 'bout I buy a ticket for the next week and we can just enjoy each other's company until then?" Alfred offered. Truly he wasn't keen on going, but it had to happen. Still, he'd put off his departure if he could, if only because he had become far too used to having Francis around that the prospect of being away from each other for a long time again was subtly terrifying.

"Is that okay?" Francis slightly whispered, unable to suppress the hope invading his tone.

"Well, I'm not on a strict schedule or anything. I just need to go back eventually, y'know?"

From what Alfred could tell, Francis understood just fine as the older man wasted little time dragging him into the bedroom after a distracted nod.

Their agreed upon grace period seemed to spitefully move at light speed. Francis took him out a few times, but mostly their days were spent quietly inside and away from the harsh weather that picked up again. Occasionally their routine was interrupted by braving the snow to visit Matthew and Arthur, who had the young man on proverbial house arrest ever since the news was broken to him about his car.

Far too soon, the final morning came, the snow having let up and the roads staying fairly clear as if it were a sign of fate that it was time to go.

Francis turned over in his bed the moment he awoke, looking over to see Alfred facing him with his phone out and an obnoxious beeping coming from the device as he moved his thumbs across the number pad. He pulled his hands behind his head and casually watched as Alfred paid him no heed as he continued his task, sticking his tongue out slightly in a way where Francis was tempted to sit up and nip at it.

"Mornin'," Alfred greeted when he finished, closing his phone and shoving it in his back pocket. Francis started with the realization that Alfred was fully dressed, and sprung up to look over the winter jacket lying close to Alfred's hand and the packed duffle bag waiting by the bedroom door.

"What were you doing?" Francis asked distractedly, eyes staying with the bag longer than he should have before looking up at Alfred's bright, smiling face.

"Sending out a picture I took of you sleeping to everyone you know. Revenge is a dish best served cold."

"That makes no sense. Anyway, seriously, what were you doing?" Francis said, trying to scratch at a difficult to reach spot on his back before Alfred took pity on him and took care of it.

"Texting Kiku, trying to figure out what time I'd get there tomorrow and if he'd be able to give me a ride. After taking a bus across state lines, taking more to get home just seemed gross," he admitted, already anticipating atrophying leg muscles and general grogginess the entire trip.

"How has he been?" Francis asked politely, smiling at the memory of the high strung Japanese boy. He had a habit of immediately taking a liking to people he mentally deemed, with great fondness, 'prickly pears.' Probably explained why he never cut off all ties with Arthur.

"Without me around? He's a complete mess," Alfred answered severely. When he had called earlier, both unknowing and uncaring of their difference in time zones, his friend contentedly informed him that the apartment had never been cleaner and that he was sleeping unusually well.

"I predicted as much," Francis said past a yawn, throwing himself over Alfred's lap and starting to doze despite the bony legs beneath him.

Alfred gently took to rubbing Francis' earlobe between his fingers, tempted to lie down and fall back asleep with him. Sadly, their time was running short.

"Arthur and Matt are going to be here in a minute," he informed Francis, who groaned and finally rolled out of bed with dark mutterings in French as Alfred laughingly moving his bag to the living room.

Alfred was in the middle of eating breakfast in the kitchen, and had just heard the shower shut off when a buzz sounded in the apartment. Wandering over to the door, he randomly pressed at the button in front of him, hoping that it was what let Arthur and Matt in. Opening the door and peaking down the stairs, he saw two heads of different shades of blond and waited for them to reach the landing.

Matt greeted him with a shy smile and a hearty hug, Arthur slipping by them into the apartment and looking around at all the potted plants with a weary expression.

"Howdy," Alfred said lazily, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly and making a vague gesture toward the couch for them to sit that neither payed any attention to.

Thankfully, Francis strode into the living room before Alfred floundered too long, hair wet and flat against his scalp and clothes not yet settled on his body as he strode right up to Matt and welcomed him with simultaneous pinches to both of his cheeks that weren't taken too kindly to.

"And how are you Arthur?" He called over his shoulder toward where Arthur was coolly examining the typewriter that no one bothered to put away while Alfred stiffly positioned himself back by where he set his meal down next to the stove.

Arthur started in surprise ever so slightly and cleared his throat, "I'm fine. Are you ready?"

"Almost, but relax for a bit. We still have quite some time before we have to go," Francis responded lightly, either purposely or coincidentally not catching the dark look of disagreement that casted itself over Arthur's face as the Frenchman headed back down the hall with a spring in his step.

Matthew wandered after Francis, calling after him in French with a nervous glance at his brother that clearly conveyed his own disagreement about how much time they had, leaving Arthur to huddle in the kitchen with Alfred.

They stayed quiet for some time as the muffled noise of a lively conversation between Matt and Francis took place, Arthur having taken to staring over at the left half of the kitchen fixedly, eyes riveted on something over there before his face seized up and he reacted as if he was unexpectedly splashed in the face with water.

"You okay?" Alfred asked dubiously around a mouth full of cereal, eyes wandering over to where Arthur was looking.

It was the refrigerator door, and his stomach unexpectedly clenched at the realization.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, fine. Do you have everything packed?" Arthur responded briskly once he tore his eyes away to Alfred, his face a splotchy mix of blushing red and grey paleness as two polarizing emotions fought to be seen.

Alfred took a long time chewing and swallowing his food before answering. "Yeah, it's not like it's much anyway. Just the one bag. Thanks for doing this by the way."

"It seemed appropriate to see you off, and Matthew wanted to say goodbye too."

Alfred nodded absently, swirling the soggy pieces of grain left swimming in the shallow bowl of milk and trying to think of something to say. Arthur appeared comfortable standing idly by the counter end and watching Alfred fiddle around.

Growing uneasy under the scrutiny, Alfred got up and rinsed out his dish, going slowly so that the noise of the tap ate up the strange tension.

"Um…"

Alfred snapped his head back at Arthur when he spoke up, nearly pulling a muscle. Arthur started at the sudden movement, looking just as surprised as Alfred.

Collecting himself with a hasty tug at his sleeve, Arthur cleared his throat and spoke again, "I would like if you checked in every once in a while. So that I-we know you made it home safe."

Alfred felt his eyes begin to water, and quickly finished cleaning his bowl so that he could collect himself. Turning back and resting against the sink edge, he nodded minutely. "Yeah, I will. Um, give me a heads up if like- you need anything, or like if Matt… we'll talk, and stuff." Arthur nodded his response, looking at Alfred in a way that he wasn't how he felt about it.

A loud 'You can't rush beauty' suddenly sounded, and Alfred noted the unidentifiable smile that quickly slipped up Arthur's lips before just as quickly disappearing.

"You really want to be with him?" Arthur asked, sounding both resigned and dubious.

"Yep. The rest of my life if I have my way," Alfred answered simply, meeting Arthur's look of doubt unwaveringly. Arthur didn't comment further, but also didn't frown so much the rest of the time they were in the apartment. Once Francis felt himself presentable, they all left, piling into Arthur's car once again and making good time on the fair roads.

The terminal was bigger than Alfred had expected, but not as busy, most people milling around the buses heading due South. Alfred had just stood up from pulling his bag out of the car when he turned around to see Matt waiting directly behind him.

"I'm going to call you every day," Matt said with determination that brooked no argument, his voice carrying in the empty parking lot.

Alfred couldn't stifle his laughter at the sight of his brother's stubbornness and the now familiar promise, pulling him into one last hug. "Uh, how bout we just text and talk when we can?"

When they pulled apart, Matt leveled him such a glare that Alfred quickly corrected himself. "Once a week, at least." Matt smiled, placated, stepping away when he spied Francis approaching around the car in his peripherals.

"I suppose there is no way of me convincing you to do something else?" Francis asked, looking at the lined up buses forlornly as he stepped into Alfred's personal space.

"You're talking like this is the end," Alfred said, his tone mockingly severe.

"It isn't," Francis stated firmly. Alfred could only grin in response, delighting in the unexpected bluntness.

"Nope, not by a long shot."

"Mr. Honda had a quote I really liked: Who travels for love finds a thousand miles not longer than one," Francis went on in an almost stutter, still looking back at the buses.

"Probably got it from a fortune cookie." Alfred felt his insides knot slightly, unable to stop himself from taking Francis' words as a round-about way of saying 'I love you.'

"I think he did, actually." Francis met his eyes again, and Alfred put up no resistance against the urge to lean in for a kiss when he saw the older man's tight smile.

Alfred could feel the roil of emotion leave Francis through their lips, causing him to smile and indirectly break off their contact and appreciating Francis' straight nose and soft lashes through hooded lids.

Remembering himself, he sheepishly redirected his attention over at Arthur and Matthew, who had pointedly looked away when the kiss started and glanced back to see if they were no longer intruding anymore. Blushing to his roots, he gave a curt nod to Arthur, who minutely gave one back, before shooting Francis one last meaningful glace with a soft smile given in return and boarded his bus with little ceremony.

He didn't have to wait long for the bus to pull out, the driver having to wait on very little people before the time to depart came. Alfred cranked his neck around in his seat, spying the three men standing by the car and watching the bus move. Offering one last, wave goodbye when he caught their eyes, he settled back in his seat when the large vehicle made a sluggish left turn with much growling from the engine. He felt on the verge of hyperventilating, a fantasy of demanding the bus be stopped so he can force open the doors, run out gallantly, wrap Francis in his arms with little care for onlookers or his family, and never have to leave. But, by the time he was five minutes into the ride, all daydreams of a cinematic reunion died away, because life didn't work that way and he was just going to have to learn to be patient. Francis would wait for him, and Matt and Arthur would welcome him back. The revelation was oddly soothing to his nerves.

A few hours into his travel and the city had faded away into rolling, spacious farmland stamped with the occasional road and odd building before hills flattened out into a never ending horizon as day became night and then day again. Alfred dreamily moved through time, taking little notice of when stops were made or the irritated shifting and idle conversation of his fellow passengers. He was far too busy smiling at his phone's new wallpaper: a photo of Francis dead asleep with drool gracelessly running down his chin in a way that he'd certainly get murdered for if he ever found out about it.


	35. Epilogue

"Did they already leave?" A distinguished blonde woman asked, fidgeting with her pink satin dress straps and looking around the spacious backyard in wonder.

"No way, calm down, Mae. She's just getting changed, and he's helping set everything up. You would think he'd give it a rest on his own wedding day, though," another woman replied tersely, tightening the fastening of her tennis bracelet and closing her eyes to bring some serenity to her beautiful face that had been lined with stress.

"Even in his suit? It's a rental, so it wouldn't be good to ruin it."

"You know how he is. He'd get mugged and be the one to apologize."

"Don't joke about that, Anne, it might actually happen." Maelys gasped, bringing her elegant hands up to her mouth and looking at her companion worriedly.

"Hey, Anne, mind lending me some muscle over here?" A blond man in a navy blue suit called to the dark brunette just as she was about to respond, struggling along with a rectangular box labeled as 'large canopy' at the garden gate. Anne rolled her eyes at the familiar voice, while Maelys beamed when she looked over.

"Ah, Alfred, there you are! I didn't see you after the ceremony, so I started to worry. Anne and I will be right over," Maelys greeted warmly. She was about to make her way toward him when Anne stuck out an arm to stop her.

"I'll do it. You've had a busy week and need to sit down for a second. Besides, you're wearing high heels," the younger woman muttered, offering the new paralegal a soft smile before going and hefting up the unoccupied end of the box with a bit of a struggle in her own pair of heels.

"I thought you were supposed to be super strong?" Anne gritted, all too happy to let her end drop when her and Alfred reached the intended destination.

"I am," Alfred breathed, wiping at his forehead with the end of his tie, a habit he had been scolded a million times for that day alone, "I just didn't want to ruin Arthur's lawn." Anne's expression conveyed disbelief, and Alfred laughed sheepishly before making an escape to the front of the house.

He approached the opened trunk of a car parked along the sidewalk that a man was leaning into and obnoxiously humming so that the noise echoed in the small space.

"Need any help?" Alfred offered cheerily, kicking lightly at the heels of the shiny dress shoes before him.

Francis straightened up briskly, arms full with saran wrapped containers and a thin box covered in silver gift wrap folded under his arm.

A stack of glass dishware filled with food was immediately shoved into Alfred's waiting arms, the Frenchman taking a moment to adjust the loose bun he had been talked into wearing his hair in and turning toward the backyard with Alfred falling in step beside him.

"You look nice today," Alfred commented, noting how Francis kept rubbing at his bare chin. The older man had gone back and forth the whole morning on whether to shave or not, and had settled on going smooth-faced just an hour before they were due at the chapel.

"You always say that," Francis said off handedly, spying the table for the wedding gifts and setting down their joint present.

"I always mean it," Alfred responded, leaning over the Frenchman's shoulder and observing the modest pile of gifts. Matt was probably going to faint at the sight, even if it was just a couple of small things. His twin had spent a good deal of time impressing upon his family not to get him anything or else he'd flay them, desperate to keep things as casual and unpretentious as possible. Naturally they all went out and got him and his now-wife gifts the first chance they had.

"I think he'll like it." Alfred threw an arm around Francis' shoulder, the older man leaning into the embrace before nudging Alfred's chin with the side of his head.

"Well, he won't complain. Now go stop him from trying to cart in all those tables before he hurts himself. Really, the moment he feels better he immediately wears himself out," Francis muttered, reluctantly slipping out of Alfred's hold and heading toward Maelys when he spied her wrestling a folding chair open. Alfred watched him go with a goofy grin, shrugging and going back to the front of the house to hunt his brother down.

By the time everything was settled, the sky had grown dark in the usual summer way where it was perfectly easy to see everything even without the aid of the freshly turned on porch lights. Insects buzzed lazily off in the distance, and the sharp smell of grass started to permeate the air even more strongly as the heat of the day ebbed away and the guests started to head out when the newlyweds went home after Matt over exerted himself dancing, of all things.

Alfred stumbled out through the storm door with loud, happy shouts of lingering guests following him as he weaved his way through the disorganized array of card tables with empty dishes still sitting on them from the reception dinner. He passed by a clump of the property that was damp and sheltered by a pile of excess brick that had never been removed, spotting the pale leaves of flowers in the gloomy light. Seized by a sudden whim, Alfred picked a good handful of the weedy plants before spying the two individuals he had been looking for sitting at a round table toward the back fence.

He strode over just in time to hear Arthur and Francis in the middle of the type of conversation where Francis was gloating with the sole purpose to irritate Arthur and the Englishman half willingly took the bait.

"…Flying out here wasn't any trouble at all. The perks of being one's own boss," Francis boasted with a satisfied smile and a mute toast to Alfred when he saw him approach before finishing off his glass of wine and pouring another with the bottle sitting on the table close at hand. Alfred wondered how he managed to secure a whole bottle, but kept his thoughts to himself as he settled into an empty chair next to his partner and started organizing the flowers he picked.

"Like I want to hear that sort of thing from you," Arthur groused, face scrunching before he remembered himself and played his reaction off as an almost sneeze.

"Oh, Arthur, be nice. It's not my fault I'm ridiculously rich." Francis leaned forward tipsily, but keeping the rest of his body under enough control that Alfred couldn't tell if he was at his drinking limit yet.

"I suppose those stupid books of yours write themselves? And you're not that well off." Arthur's face looked lined under the harsh light emanating from the porch when coupled with the dour line he held his lips in.

"Oho, with Alfred's income combined with mine, I am." Francis patted Alfred's shoulder heavily, and Alfred tried not to wince at the unexpected contact.

"It's all a conspiracy," Arthur darkly muttered at the stars blinking awake in the night sky.

"I'll be sure to mail you a bottle of my best wine as congratulations for the new additions to the family."

"Keep your flavored water to yourself," Arthur barked, taking a deep gulp of scotch from a stout glass. Alfred wondered where he too found his drink, considering Arthur claimed to have given up on drinking all together after Matthew graduated college. Then again, Alfred supposed it was easier to get Matt off Arthur's case when they no longer lived in the same house.

"Don't be stubborn, I know you like wine," Francis accused a little louder than necessary.

"Speaking of drinking, did someone slip Matt something to calm him down? He actually asked for romance tips before I kicked him out of the house, the poor bastard," Alfred cut in with forced merriment after his amusement with their argument dissolved.

"Why did he ask you and not me?" Francis and Arthur demanded in unison.

"Wow. That was creepy," Alfred said after a laugh died in his throat.

"Why did he not come to big brother? I would have given lots of advice." Francis' eyes were wide and he even went the extra mile of biting down on his napkin to illustrate how 'upset' he was. Alfred decided that he had had too much wine, after all.

"He'd only go to you if he wanted to be a deviant. I'm practically his father. He should have come to me!" Arthur thumped his chest and pounded his glass on the table disruptively.

"I told him Kat would probably like anything," Alfred wedged himself back in before a fight could break out, "Not like I would've had much to say about that kind of stuff anyway."

"Ah! Cher, quit breaking my heart. You could have told him something." Francis smiled coyly at Alfred and waggled his eyebrows. Alfred noted that his glass of wine was drained again, and started thinking of ways divert from the new topic with Arthur present.

"He'd only ask you if he thought the girl wanted a pansy," Arthur burst in excitedly, cheeks rosy but he wasn't slurring his words yet. "Gals like it when you're a proper man in the bedroom. Act like a gentleman in the rest of the house, but as soon as you hit that mattress…." Arthur trailed off his sentence suggestively, smiling lopsidedly and sweeping his arms at nothing in particular. Alfred thought he was going to drop dead on the spot. He said 'romance' not 'sex,' so what the hell were these two idiots talking about all of a sudden?

"What about that brother of hers? He smiles all the time and it's creepy, not friendly." Alfred desperately interrupted, Arthur too far gone to really notice the unsubtle diversion.

"Well, get over it. You're family now," Arthur told him smoothly, knocking back another class of scotch, and Alfred noticed that he had managed to hoard a whole bottle to himself like Francis, except better hidden on the chair next to him instead of out in the open.

"You're family too, Mr. I'm-practically-his-father," Alfred jabbed back mockingly.

"Hmmmm, shouldn't you be taking pictures or something, Mr. Fancy-artist-photographer?" Arthur's question seemed to be genuine if his squinting was anything to go by.

"I'm not a photographer, and I certainly wouldn't do it for a wedding," Alfred stated bluntly, shaking his head. One gallery showing and suddenly he was an 'artist.' He definitely still loved doing photography for himself and the art of it, but he had become unexpectedly happy with his involvement in advertising and had every intention of staying there. Not that he would ever admit to that, even on his death bed, lest Gilbert ever managed to find out. He was already unbearably gloating about the fact that Alfred got a good job right after working under him.

"That's not what I- oh, there's that Cuban fellow over there. Hello," Arthur toddled off before Alfred decided that letting a tipsy new father-in-law wander aimlessly was probably a bad idea.

"How you doing over there?" Alfred asked Francis, staring down at the glass he was holding after he spotted Arthur being herded off to the living room to lay down by a clucking Maelys and a grumpy Anne, who was glaring daggers at her boss.

"Oh fine, a little heady from all the drinking and sitting down, but I'm nowhere near Arthur's level yet," Francis answered in good humor, pinning Alfred with a look filled with a surprising amount of sobriety.

"I'll take your word for it," Alfred muttered, fiddling with a waxy stem as he tied two flower ends together now that he was no longer distracted.

"I see Mr. Honda couldn't make it," Francis commented, taking advantage of the alone time he and Alfred had suddenly lucked into after being nothing but busy or asleep the past week.

"Not for lack of trying, but July's a busy month at the hospital so he's been pretty much on call twenty four-seven the past few weeks."

"Ah, that's a shame. I miss him."

"You miss teasing him," Alfred corrected.

"That's what I said."

Alfred beamed, turning his attention back down to his lap of plant life and silently working for an indiscernible amount of time as the night stretched on and crickets started chirping.

"Dare I ask what you've been doing over there this whole time?" Francis finally inquired, playing with his empty glass and no longer having interest in his wine bottle after Arthur lost their undeclared drinking contest.

"Just one more…There," Alfred responded brightly, dabbing his tongue out for a moment as he fiddled with something in his lap before turning on Francis with an expression of childish satisfaction.

Doubting Alfred's mind was anywhere near the gutter his was in that moment, Francis indulgently held a hand forward when Alfred gestured for him to do so. A frail bracelet of star shaped flowers of a pale blue color that he recognized as phlox was deftly hung on his wrist.

"You didn't steal this off the bouquet did you?" Francis teased with a smile, gently stroking a silky smooth petal and basking in the warmth of the night and Alfred's gaze.

"Found them growing along the fence along the side, and they reminded me of you," Alfred answered, leaning forward on his arm and staring at Francis' new accessory.

Francis doubted Alfred was familiar with the language of flowers, no matter how much he tried to get Alfred to share his botany interests beyond pretty pictures, but he still couldn't help the secretive smirk at the choice of flowers the younger man happened to make.

"It's amazing where things can grow." Alfred went on after a silent moment, sleepily meeting Francis' eye and grinning distantly as his food and champagne filled stomach made his mind sluggish.

Francis nodded contently, starting to perk up under the lazy blue gaze. "I agree."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the language of flowers, phlox is supposed to symbolize compatibility, unanimity, and used as a gesture for marriage proposals.  
> Also, wild blue phlox reads more as purple than blue. But that's the name, so I went with it.  
> Thank you very much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first fanfiction! There are a few things that I hadn't fully decided on before I started writing this, so if there's anything wrong or inconsistent that I may have missed, feel free to point it out. Thank you for reading!


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